Rogue Resistance
by evaschon95
Summary: WWII AU of entire 'Rogue One' story. Sticking pretty faithfully to the original. Probably won't develop RebelCaptain too much (though I do ship them with all my heart). All the characters you love running around in France during WWII, basically. And Germany. Lots of awesomeness. (Story image taken from Google.)
1. PROLOGUE

**Author's note: Inspired by this pin/tumblr post - [pinterest].ca/pin/852447035692786154/. (Just add 'pinterest' before the .ca) No plagiarism intended. :) I'll be updating this fic as much as I possibly can, though it takes me a while to write even one scene because I want it to be accurate to the movie's dialogue/characters AND to WWII history. So that involves a lot of research and watching bits of the film, etc., etc. One thing I promise** _ **not**_ **to do is leave this fic unfinished because I hate seeing unfinished fics on this website. So with all that being said, I hope you enjoy this story! (And even though I'll be continuing it whether or not I get reviews, it's always awesome to know that people are reading my stuff. ;) *hint, hint* Constructive criticism would also be welcome!)**

 _Southern France, 1934_

The surrounding French countryside was green. Bright green, in the glare of the mid-morning sun. It was an observation Major Orson Kraemer would not have bothered to make, had not the sun annoyed him. This transaction was supposed to have taken place at night when there were less prying eyes. But, as usual Colonel von Talkin had fouled things up and now Orson was left to make the operation work no matter what.

"Faster," he ordered his driver.

Wouldn't Galen be pleased to see him again after all this time?

He smiled at the thought.

/

The vehicle had just turned down the long, narrow lane that led to the Erso farm when Jeanne spotted it – or, rather, the cloud of dust in attendance. That lane was always dusty in the summer. She didn't like playing there; it made her sneeze and ruined her doll's dress.

She scrambled to her feet. "Mama! Papa!" Her doll fell to the ground, forgotten in her haste to reach the house and alert her parents. They had warned her time and time again that if ever she saw a stranger approaching to come inside right away and tell them. They would take care of the rest, she knew, and so she wasn't worried. Her parents had always taken the best care of her. She trusted them.

"Strangers!" she shouted as she burst through the door.

Mama was already bundling up several items of clothing. "We know, Jeanne. Gather your things. We have to go now."

Papa was also packing. He gave Jeanne such a sad look that for a moment her confidence in him flickered. Wouldn't Papa fix everything? He was the smartest man Jeanne knew.

"Saul, come in, Saul." It was Mama, talking into the radio receiver. There was a faint hiss of static. Jeanne stood and watched, even though she knew she should be packing. But she didn't want to pack, she didn't want to leave this nice farm with the three chickens and grass that smelled sweet in springtime and all the little hiding places that she'd explored with her doll.

"Lyra?" the voice on the other end growled.

"It's happened," Mama said, her voice a little breathless and a little frantic. "They've come for us."

Jeanne could hear the car's motor now. She jumped when Mama smashed the radio against the table, destroying it. Papa was throwing the last of his important papers – the ones she wasn't allowed to touch – into the stove. Mama was about pull Jeanne away and out the back door, just like they'd practised, when Papa pulled Jeanne back close to him.

"Jeanne," he said and his voice was so serious, so sad that it made Jeanne want to cry. "Remember, whatever you may hear of me, whatever I do, I do it to protect you. Do you understand?"

She nodded, her eyes big and round. "I understand."

He kissed her forehead and pulled her into his arms. "I love you, Stardust."

"I love you too, Papa."

Then Mama had her by the hand and was pulling her away. She paused for only a moment to look back. "Galen."

"Go," was all that Papa said and he went out the front door while Jeanne and Mama left through the back.

They ran for a little ways, through the vegetable garden that Mama had tried to keep going and had always failed and past the squawking chickens. The land was hilly where they lived and Mama pulled Jeanne behind one of the little hills. She knelt to the ground.

"You know where to go from here, don't you, Jeanne?"

Jeanne nodded. They had practised it so many times – and often in the dark – that she could find her way to the cave blindfolded. But why was Mama leaving? Jeanne watched as Mama untied the dull silver medallion that always hung around her neck and slipped it over Jeanne's.

"This will protect you," Mama said. "Now run!"

/

Galen Erso stood outside his home and watched the enemy approach.

Leading the small force of Nazi soldiers was a man he knew, a man who had once been his best friend. Orson Kraemer. They had been classmates together at the University of Prague and later, co-workers in Vienna where they made a good team. Galen came up with the ideas and Kraemer implemented them.

But despite their shared history, Galen could expect no quarter from Orson Kraemer now.

"You're a hard man to find, Galen," Kraemer said when he was within speaking distance. His thugs spread out in a wide semi-circle, eyes scanning the countryside. "But farming? Really? With your talents, you could have become a shop-keeper, at the very least." His tone was casual, conversational, as if the last three years had never happened.

Galen shrugged. "It's a peaceful life." He had to keep talking, give Lyra and Jeanne a chance to escape.

Kraemer looked around. "A lonely life, I should think."

"Since Lyra died, yes."

Kraemer hardly looked shocked. "Oh...my condolences." Then, "Search the house!"

Half of the soldiers moved off toward the house. Galen resisted the urge to turn and watch them go through his and Lyra's and Jeanne's possessions. He could only pray that his work had been destroyed in time.

"What is it you want?" he demanded of Kraemer.

Kraemer held his hands up in a conciliatory fashion. "The work has stalled," he said, his voice one of humble pleading. Galen was not fooled. "I need you to come back and finish what you started."

"I won't do it, Kraemer."

"We're on the verge of greatness!" Kramer exclaimed. " _This_ close to providing peace, security, safety for our world."

Galen could hardly hold back a snort of laughter. "You confuse peace with terror, Kraemer."

"I have?" Kraemer let out a half-laugh of his own. "One has to start somewhere, at least."

A breeze swept between Galen and Kraemer, drying the perspiration that had drenched Galen's brow ever since Kraemer arrived. He shook his head. "I'll be no help to you, Kraemer. My mind...I have trouble remembering even the littlest things these days."

Kraemer smiled. It was a sickening smile. "Galen, you're an inspired scientist, but a terrible liar." He raised his hand before Galen could protest. "It's not that I don't appreciate the effort. I do. I really-" His eyes darted to the left of Galen, the smile leaving his face. "Oh, look, it's Lyra back from the dead. A miracle."

A chill shook Galen to his core when he saw his wife. She had a pistol pointed straight at Kraemer's head and her hand did not shake.

"Stop!" she shouted.

"Oh, Lyra." Kraemer smiled again. "As troublesome as ever."

She swallowed. Her hand was on the trigger, something that could not have escaped Kraemer's notice. "You're not taking him."

Kraemer cocked his head to the side. "Of course I'm not. I'm taking you all. You, your child...you'll all live in comfort."

"As hostages," Lyra spat.

Kraemer shock his head, a mocking smile stealing over his face. "As heroes of the coming Reich."

Lyra re-gripped the pistol and Galen could only watch with horror as the scene played out in front of him. It had come down to Kraemer and Lyra now. He had to try to get through to her. "Lyra." She did not look at him. "Put it down. Please."

Her last words were addressed to Kraemer. "You will never win."

"Do it," Kraemer ordered.

Two bullets pierced the air before hitting Lyra in the heart and Kraemer in the shoulder. Galen grasped for his wife, both hands reaching out, aching to hold her one last time, but he was already being dragged away by Kraemer's guards. He twisted around in their grip to catch sight of Lyra one last time.

"Fire the house," Kraemer ordered, with as much emotion as if he'd just asked for his automobile to be brought around. "They have a child. Find it."

As the smell of smoke drifted across the field and reached Galen, he could only pray that his Stardust was still safe.

/

Jeanne had seen everything. She didn't _mean_ to disobey Mama. But she had been curious and that curiosity had taken away her fear, at least for a moment. So she had crept back, quiet as a field mouse, and watched as the grey-haired man talked with Papa. She had cheered inside when Mama had been so brave. And she had not understood, for a moment, when Mama fell down and didn't get up. Mama had always been so strong and so courageous. She would get up and kill that awful man. She had to!

It was not until she saw Papa being led away that she realized the seriousness of what had just happened. When she heard the man shout – about her! - that is when she finally obeyed Mama and ran to the cave, ran so hard that she barely had breath to push aside the clever camouflaging of mossy branches that Papa had created several months ago.

She pulled the cover back into place once she was inside and retreated deeper into the cave until she was as far inside as the back wall would allow. There were candles but she didn't light any for fear that the men outside would see it and find her and take her away as they'd taken Papa.

It was very dark and very cold in the cave and, too late, she remembered leaving her doll in the grass outside. So Jeanne locked her arms around her knees and closed her eyes and, in the end, she fell asleep.

/

When she awoke, she did not know how much time had passed. Only that a noise had awakened her. It came again. A shoving, scraping sound. Jeanne sprang to her feet. What was it? Who was it?

Light entered the cave, only a sliver first and then a burst of it all at once.

Jeanne slid back to press against the cave wall.

A face appeared in the entrance of the cave. Serious. Dark. Lined.

"My child." His voice was hoarse. "Come. We have a long drive ahead of us."


	2. 10 YEARS LATER

_10 years later_

Jeanne Erso opened her eyes and swung her legs over the edge of her bed before realizing that it wasn't her bed. She sat up and banged her head against the low bunk above. As if the bump had cleared her head, she could suddenly remember where she was and – more importantly – how she had gotten to this filthy dump of a holding cell.

Smuggling goods for the black market never looked good on the résumé once the Nazis caught up with you.

/

Under ordinary circumstances, Casián Andor would never have gone near the Kafrene Ring's territory. They were a notoriously rotten gang with a history of murder and robbery that went back long before the war ever started. They had only gotten bolder during the lawlessness that war tends to bring and with their connections to the black market, anyone who stumbled into their territory tended to be found the next morning with their throat slit.

This being daytime, however, perhaps he might get lucky. That, and the fact that he was a smuggler himself, had even traded with the Kafrene Ring on occasion.

Anyway, he had to be here. Tveit, one of his regular informants had gotten jumpy - well, jumpier than usual - and had decided that meeting in the middle of a den of thieves and murderers was safer than taking a chance that the Gestapo might break up a meeting somewhere else.

Casián couldn't really blame him.

So here he was, moving through the cramped, hazy streets that were shadowed by tall, sagging buildings that smelled of rot and mould and sweat. People of all kinds shoved past him, intent on their own business. He kept one hand on his revolver at all times.

A low whistle sounded from an alleyway and Casián ducked inside when he saw who it was.

"I was about to leave," Tveit complained, his feet shuffling in his anxiousness to get away. His right arm was held in a dirt-stained sling.

Casián shrugged. "I came as fast as I could. What do you have for me?"

Tveit tried to side-step away. His twitching face and furtiveness had always reminded Casián of a rat. "I have to get back to the truck, Andor. Walk with me."

"Back to Jeddah?" Casián gripped Tveit's arm.

The informer squirmed away. "They'll leave without me!"

Casián kept a firm hold on Tveit's arm. They couldn't leave together. It could draw unwanted attention and Tveit was here, right now, with information that he needed. That the Resistance needed. "Easy," he said, in an attempt to sooth the man. "You have news from Jeddah? Come on. Quickly."

Tveit stepped back a little with an air of acquiescence. "A Wermacht driver. He defected yesterday, came to Jeddah with news of a weapon they're building." He trembled.

"What kind of weapon?"

"Look," Tveit said, stepping away again, "I have to go."

Casián grabbed the front of Tveit's jacket and slammed him backwards into one of the crumbling brick walls that formed one side of the alley. "What kind of weapon?!"

Tveit stuttered, "A city killer. That's what the driver called it."

Casián loosened his grip on Tveit. "A city killer," he repeated, trying to make sense of such a thing. If it were true – and he still had doubts – it would change the face of the war, a war which had been going more steadily in the Allies' favour recently.

Tveit was still babbling on. "Someone named Erso sent the driver. Some old friend of Saul's."

Casián started. " _Galen_ Erso? Was it?"

Tveit twisted away. "I don't know," he whined. "They were sending a messenger to Saul when I left."

"Who else knows of this?" Casián demanded.

"I don't know," Tveit repeated. "All I know is that everything's falling apart. Saul's right – there are spies everywhere!"

Too late, Casián realized that they were not alone. Two SS officers stood in the entrance to the alley, their shadows casting a pall. How they had ended up in the Kafrene sector was a mystery, but there had to be more coming. The Nazis knew the reputation of this area and would not have ventured inside without a strong force – and a good reason.

"What is going on here?" the one officer inquired.

"Where are your papers?" the other added.

Casián patted down his shirt as if looking for the identification papers which he had no idea of showing to them. "In my gloves," he said and reached inside his jacket as if to pull out his gloves but instead brought out his revolver.

Two shots, and the officers fell down, dead.

"What have you done?" Tveit almost screamed as Casián peeked around the corner. More SS were headed their way. He turned back to the alley and glanced up. There was a fire escape, one he had spotted as soon as he entered the alley. It was always best to have a plan of escape in any given situation. He shoved the revolver back into his belt and prepared to leap.

"Are you crazy?" Tveit said, real fear snaking across his face. "I'll never make it out of here. My arm-"

Casián paused and took Tveit by the arm – by his good arm. "Hey," he murmured. "Calm down. It will be all right. Calm down."

And then he shot Tveit through the heart.

He stood there for a moment, staring down at the informer, the pounding of Nazi boots matching the pounding of his heart. He jumped as high as he could, grabbing onto the bottom rungs of the fire escape, and swung himself upward.

It was better for Tveit to be dead, to have died a quick death than to be left to the mercy of the Gestapo. Casián knew it better than most. So why would his hands not stop shaking?

/

Bode Reichardt had been walking in the company of these freedom fighters for the better part of an hour and with each passing minute his nerves grew a little more frayed. When he had managed to convince a partisan outside Paris that he was a true defector and not an enemy plant, he had expected to be taken straight to Jeddah where he would relay Galen Erso's message to Galen's old friend, Saul Garreau.

It had not turned out that way, had not gone well at all. Right now he was being led – 'shoved' was probably the more appropriate word – through an overgrown forest that he, though he had no compass, was quite sure was _not_ anywhere on the way to Jeddah.

Questions to his captors were met with silence or sometimes a smack on the back of his head.

The trees and undergrowth began to lessen until Bode and the partisans on either side of him stood in a grassy clearing several hundred metres in every direction.

On the far end of the clearing, a bunch of thin, dirty partisans lounged around, smoking and laughing. When they caught sight of Bode and the men with him, they froze, all except for one man who stepped forward. Their leader, Bode assumed.

He cleared his throat. "You're-you're Saul? Saul Garreau?" The man didn't speak, only eyed Bode impassively. "No?" Bode tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. "We're wasting time! Time that we don't have. I need to speak with Garreau before it's too late. I need to get to Jeddah. I have an urgent message for him – what part of urgent message do you-?"

Without ceremony, a burlap sack was thrown over Bode's head, cutting off his words, but only for a moment. "You don't understand!" he shouted. "We're all in danger!"


	3. Y4

The truck bounced awkwardly along the muddy, deep-rutted road that led to the labour camp. Jeanne didn't remember the name of it – if she'd ever been told in the first place – but the knowledge that she was being taken to a Nazi camp gave her little cause for worry. She had escaped from plenty before, never looking back. How different could this one be?

Canvas flapped in the breeze created by the truck's swift drive down the bumpy road. The guards had tried to fasten it down a couple times already but it wouldn't stay put.

Just like her.

Except for the usual disdain she felt toward anyone who tried to curb her freedom, Jeanne felt no special, patriotic loathing toward the Nazis invaders. France had never been anything to her but the place she slept at night, the place she ate, the place where both her parents had been taken from her. Her mother had died and her father had been taken away. Both losses were irreversible.

She did not know whether to hope that her father was still alive or to hope that he had found death at last. Ever since she cut ties with Saul – or, rather, Saul had cut ties with her – she had had no further contact with the Resistance and did not know if there'd been further news of her father.

The truck shuddered to a halt.

One of the guards said something in German. He sounded puzzled.

Instinctively, Jeanne looked down at the cuffs that bound her hands and pulled her wrists apart as far as they would go, testing the strength of the-

The sharp report of a rifle sounded like it came from right outside the truck.

And then the canvas and wooden boards were torn away and Jeanne threw herself to the ground as men with dirt-stained clothes – members of the Resistance, she assumed – took out the two guards who, Jeanne suspected, died confused.

"Lana! Lana Haillet!" one of the men called.

Jeanne looked up and when the man saw her, recognition flashed in his eyes. Who were these people and how did they know her?

He bent down. "Do you want to get out of here?" His voice was quiet for all the violence that had just taken place.

She nodded.

In a moment, her handcuffs sprang free and she jumped up, jabbing her elbow into her rescuer's face and scrambling down the length of the truck, twisting free of hands that grasped for her. She didn't know who these men were or why they wanted her, but she wasn't about to stand around and find out.

Freedom was within reach.

Out of the back of the truck, she could see a muddy road and, beyond that, green forest. It would take her two, maybe three minutes to reach it. She vaulted off the back of the truck and that's when the hand reached out, grabbed the front of her shirt, and sent her flying onto her back.

Jeanne felt the mud of the road oozing through her hair and onto her scalp as she lay there, trying to regain her breath.

Overhead loomed a tall man, very tall, with bright blond hair and startlingly blue eyes.

When he spoke, his voice held a hint of a British accent, though his words were French.

"This is a rescue," he said. "I suggest you be a little more grateful."

/

Jeanne kept her eyes and her thoughts to herself as she was marched through the underground Resistance base. She had heard of this, this underground labyrinth before though she'd never showed up for the grand tour. At least, until now. 'Y4' they called it, a cryptic code name for one of the best-guarded secrets of the French underground. The base held everything from a huge weapons stash to individuals most wanted by the Nazis.

Her guard ushered her into a large room, dim except for the table directly in the centre. A bare bulb hung above it, casting harsh shadows over the two people who sat there. One was a middle-aged man with a military presence, the other a slender woman with short auburn hair, perhaps in her thirties.

"Welcome," the woman said and waved a hand at the extra chairs circling the table.

Jeanne sat down, keeping a wary eye on her surroundings. She could make out more people hovering in the shadows, along with a dim idea of walls papered with maps and charts and photographs.

"My name is Mora and this is Commander Dubois," the woman said, gesturing to the man beside her.

Dubois stood and approached Jeanne. "And you are Lana Haillet. At least, that's what you're calling yourself these days, isn't it?" He sounded unimpressed and went on before Jeanne could say anything. Not that she wanted to. "Possession of illegal weapons, forgery of identification papers, aggravated assault, escape from custody, resisting arrest..."

He waved around the sheaf of papers in his hand. Her file, she assumed. They'd forgotten to add smuggling as the latest in her many crimes against the Third Reich.

"Imagine what would have happened had the Nazis found out who you really are," Dubois continued. The man must enjoy the sound of his own voice. "Jeanne Erso. That is your real name, isn't it? Jeanne Erso, daughter of Galen Erso. Who, I might add, is a known collaborator."

Familiar anger burst into Jeanne's chest, hot and tight. "What is this?" she demanded.

"It's a chance for you to make a fresh start," Mora said quietly.

That's when a man stepped out of the shadows. He leaned against a large chalkboard that had coded messages scribbled all over it. "We think you might be able to help us," he said, his voice low and heavily-accented. A Spaniard, Jeanne was quite sure. Part of the Spanish Marquis most likely.

"This is Casián Andor," Mora explained. "Intelligence."

"When was the last time you were in contact with your father?" Casián asked, his eyes probing Jeanne's.

Though she would have infinitely preferred not having to answer any of the questions thrown at her, she had to admit that Casián's directness was refreshing in comparison with Dubois' bluster and trickiness. "Ten years ago," she said in answer to the question.

"Any idea where he's been all that time?" Casián said.

Jeanne was silent for a moment. She didn't want to talk about her father, not now and not ever. And especially not to a room full of strangers. In rarer moments she had spoken of her father with Saul but that was over and done with now. But she looked steadily at Casián when she said, "I like to think he's dead. Makes things easier." There. Let them make of that what they would.

"Easier than what? That he's been a tool of the Nazi war machine?"

Jeanne decided she didn't like Casián's directness anymore.

"I've never had the luxury of political opinions," she snapped.

The look on Casián's face, the way he crossed his arms, it all said plainly enough that he didn't believe her. "Really? When was the last time you spoke with Saul Garreau?"

"It's been a long time."

"He'd remember you, though, wouldn't he?" Casián stood straighter, took a step closer to the table. He glanced over at Mora and then back at Jeanne. "He might agree to meet you, if you came as a friend."

Jeanne was silent for a moment. What did they want with Saul? Weren't they all on the same side, Mora and Dubois, Cassian and Saul?

"Time's running out, girl," Dubois said. "So if you've got nothing to say, we'll just put you back right where we found you." His words were harsh, his tone harsher still.

Jeanne lifted her chin a fraction. "I was a child," she said, staring at Dubois. "Saul Garreau saved my life, he raised me...and then he abandoned me. I haven't seen him in years. I don't even know where he is now."

Dubois seemed about to say something when Casián spoke. "We know how to find Saul. What we need now is someone to get us through the door without being killed."

"You're all fighting the same war, aren't you?" Jeanne asked.

Mora nodded. "Technically, yes. But Saul Garreau is an extremist who has employed questionable tactics on more than one occasion. He broke faith with us several years ago and went off on his own – even since then, he has caused more problems for the Resistance proper than anything else." She and Dubois shared a glance and Jeanne assumed they'd discussed the problem of Saul recently. "But now, we have little choice but to ask his help."

"And what does this have to do with my father?"

"There's a Nazi defector in Jeddah being held by Garreau," Casián said, his eyes probing her again. "A Wehrmacht driver. He is claiming that the Nazis have created a weapon with enough power to destroy entire cities. The defector said he was sent by your father."

Jeanne sat back in her chair. Her father. Someone who had become almost myth in her mind, now very much real and alive and, apparently, working against the Nazis in some capacity. She needed time to process it all, but from the looks of it these people would give her none.

"Obviously, we need to stop this weapon from ever being finished," said Mora.

Dubois said, "Andor's mission is to verify the defector's story and, if at all possible, locate and extract your father."

"It appears your father is vital to the production of this weapon," Mora said. "Because of the gravity of this situation and your connection to Saul, we're all hoping that you will assist in finding your father and returning him here so that he can give us the information we need."

Jeanne took a deep breath. "And if I do it? If I help you?"

Mora folded her hands together. "We will make sure you go free."


	4. PROPER INTRODUCTIONS

Jeanne followed Casián as he walked through the maze that was Y4 with never a hesitation. She was growing to hate the place for the tightness it brought to her chest and the childish fear that the ceiling would collapse on her at any moment.

"In here," Casián said, pulling open a door that looked just like all the others they had passed.

Jeanne entered and found herself inside a room that looked like a warehouse – except for the ubiquitous low ceiling. There were crates and crates of supplies stretching for dozens of metres. Racks of clothing – disguises, she was sure – hung on racks around the room's perimeter, each protected in a plastic bag.

"Find what you need and put it in this." Casián handed her an olive green duffel bag. The fabric was rough in her hands.

"Andor!" a voice called. Both she and Casián looked up – it was Dubois. "Andor," he repeated. "A word."

Casián jogged over to Dubois and the two of them stood framed in the doorway, deep in conversation. Jeanne watched them for a moment and then moved deeper into the strange warehouse. Best to take Casián's advice and stock up for the journey ahead. A change of clothes would be nice as well – she could feel dried mud clinging to the back of her vest and pants. But not necessary. Anyway, her mud-spattered, dull brown-and-green ensemble would help her blend in anywhere, except maybe a fancy ball. But she didn't plan to attend any of those anytime soon.

She moved over to a crate marked 'Army Rations' and helped herself.

"Wouldn't take too many of those if I were you," a voice remarked over her shoulder.

Jeanne looked up and a jolt of recognition went through her. It was the tall blond man from before. Only this time, instead of wearing the rough clothes of a Resistance worker, he had on a pair of grey pants and a white undershirt. He held a German officer's jacket in his hands, seemed about to slip it on.

"And why not?" she asked, trying not to let her voice betray the scare he'd given her.

"At my calculations, you'll only need two or three of those for the amount of time we'll be gone." He spoke French, like her, but again there was that crispness of tone, that twist of the tongue that led her to believe he was British. He certainly didn't _look_ like a Frenchman. "And those are expensive. Best to leave them for those who really have a need."

Jeanne dropped the ration, the one she'd just grabbed, back into the crate.

"I'm Agent K2. Kay to most," the man said. "British Army Intelligence."

Jeanne took a step away from the crate as Kay gathered up a handful and placed them carefully in his own duffel bag. "I remember you," she said. Her collarbone still ached from the blow he'd given her.

"I see that Mora and Dubois decided to send you to Jeddah," Kay said. He left the crate and Jeanne followed him. The man was obviously experienced in this sort of thing and she really had no idea what all to put in her bag. Watching Kay could provide some useful pointers.

"I think it's a bad idea," Kay continued. "So does Casián."

Jeanne shot a look at the Spaniard, still engrossed in his conversation with Dubois.

Kay gave a shrug. "But what do I know? My specialty is just strategic analysis."

/

Dubois spoke quickly and quietly. He kept looking all around him every few seconds and it made Casián wonder just how sanctioned Dubois' orders were. Had Mora really cleared this?

"Galen Erso is vital to the Nazi's weapons program," Dubois said. "Whatever you just heard in there, forget it. There will be no extraction. You will find Erso and you will kill him. End of the line."

Casián couldn't say he was surprised. If even half of what the defector had said was true, Galen Erso had caused near-irreversible harm to the Allies. It wasn't Casián's place to say whether or not any man deserved to die – he followed orders and that was enough – but men like Galen Erso made him question his place.

He re-entered the supply depot and quickly picked out Jeanne. Looked like she was throwing some words back and forth with Kay. Casián quickened his pace.

"I see you two have met," he said as soon as he was within speaking range.

"Yes, indeed," said Kay. His tone was biting and Casián winced. If Kay and Jeanne were already going at each other it was going to be a very long ride to Jeddah.

"Come on," Casián ordered and took off without bothering to look back and see if Kay and Jeanne were following. They walked for a few minutes and when the stone floor began to slope upwards, Casián let out a small breath of relief. As vital as Y4 was to the Resistance, he preferred the fresh air and sunshine up top, even if it was more dangerous.

They reached the ladder and Casián scrambled up. It took all his strength to push the entrance open – the old wine cask concealing the exit was solid craftsmanship and it was always a challenge to lift.

"Come on," he whispered down after making sure that the cellar held no surprises.

Jeanne climbed up, closely followed by Kay.

They made their way outside and to the barn where the truck was ready and waiting.

Casián went around to the back and pulled the flap down. Inside, chairs and tables, sofas, all different kinds of furniture, all ugly, were stuffed together and tied down with some semblance of care. Casián grinned. It would fool anyone.

"Kay!" he called.

"Why does she get to ride up in the cab?" Kay groused as he crawled through some path in the tangle of furniture known only to him.

Casián shook his head. When Kay had disappeared farther into the back of the truck, he turned and went around to the front of the truck where Jeanne sat. "What's the plan?" she asked.

"We are moving to a new apartment in Paris," Casián said.

"What?"

"The furniture in the back," he said. "That's our cover story."

"Oh."

/

Bode Reichardt shivered uncontrollably. It was cold where they had him, kneeling on a stone floor with pebbles that poked painfully into his knees. The blasts of cold wind that swept through the room on occasion didn't help matters any. The ragged burlap sack was still over his head. His captors murmured among themselves, their voices coming from high above his head.

How long they would keep him here, Bode had no idea, but he was quite sure that he'd tumble down from exhaustion before long. Humiliating, but inevitable.

A door squeaked somewhere ahead and then Bode could hear heavy breathing coming closer and closer, footsteps dragging and thumping unevenly.

"Lies!" came a hoarse voice. "Deceptions!" The steps paused, right in front of Bode. "Let's see it," the voice ordered. There was a moment of silence, then, "Bode Reichardt." The man's tone was a little more thoughtful and Bode assumed he was looking at Bode's papers. "Driver. Local boy, eh?"

"Yes," Bode said, his nerves on edge. "I was born right-"

"This was found in his boot when we captured him," said one of his captors.

Bode's head swivelled, trying in vain to see the man who had just spoken. "I can hear you," he said, indignation rising. He turned back to the new arrival. "He-they did _not_ capture me. I came here on my own, I defected. I defected!"

"Every day, more lies," the man in front of him intoned with a self-righteousness that made Bode's fists clench.

"A lie? That's what you think this is?" he demanded. "Would I risk everything for a lie? I have to speak with Saul Garreau before it's too late!"

With shocking suddenness, the sack was pulled away from Bode's head. The onslaught of light and cool, fresh air felt so unbelievably luxurious that Bode spent a moment – all right, two moments – just breathing it all in. He was about to speak when his eyes focused on the man standing before him.

He knew enough of Saul Garreau to recognize the rebel leader now.

"Oh-you-you're-" Bode stuttered. "You're him. All right." He saw the thin metal cylinder in Saul's hand, the one that the partisan commander must have handed over. "That's for you," he said, nodding at the cylinder. "And they did not find it," he spat, glaring at the partisans. "I gave it to them. Galen Erso sent it with me. To give to you."

Saul stood, impassive and somehow straight-backed despite the crutch he used for support. He regarded Bode for a long moment, his eyes probing Bode's with a suspicion that was uncomfortable, to say the least.

"Take him to Tor," Saul said and turned to leave.

The sack was thrown back over Bode's head. "Tor? Tor who?" Bode called out. "Galen Erso sent me to find you!"


	5. JOURNEY TO JEDDAH

Kraemer worked the soft leather of his officer's gloves between his hands as his automobile sped toward the facility. The facility had a name, of course, but he did not like to think it even in his mind, so ingrained in him was the need for secrecy above all else.

Unlike that blasted driver who had, apparently, told the enemy everything Galen knew.

As soon as the automobile slid to a halt outside the facility, Kraemer was out the door, not bothering to wait for his chauffeur to open it for him. Von Talkin had sent for him – some 'urgent business' – and Kraemer was sure that the man was interfering again.

He entered the observation room a little out of breath and trying to hide the fact. It would give von Talkin such satisfaction to know that his commends – his demands, rather – were enough to send Kraemer into a frenzy. Which they weren't. It was only Kraemer's suspicions that had brought him here so quickly.

As it was, von Talkin did not even look at him when he entered the room. He was too busy watching the finishing touches being put on the weapon. On _Kraemer's_ weapon, a detail that von Talkin was all too happy to forget when it suited him.

Which was all the time.

Kraemer took a step closer to the window himself, a shiver of satisfaction working its way up his spine as he saw the weapon once again. His genius, his work, his only joy. It did not look like much on the outside, all dull grey metal with just the one turret, but inside...that was what he took such pride in.

"Most unfortunate about the breath of security on Jeddah." Von Talkin's dry voice stretched itself over the room. "So many setbacks, so many delays...and now this. We've heard word of rumours already circulating through Jeddah. Apparently you've misplaced a rather talkative cargo pilot."

Already Kraemer had difficulty holding his temper. The idiot driver's defection wasn't his fault.

Von Talkin's eyes caught and held Kramer's. "You know as well as I that if the Allies hear word of our project, they will send countless forces here to destroy it, undoing all our hard work."

Kraemer stifled his thoughts at von Talkin's use of 'our' and simply said, "When the weapon is finished, Colonel, the Allies will be of little concern, I can assure you."

"'When' has become now, Major Kraemer," von Talkin said. "The Furher will tolerate no further delays. As it is, you have made time a friend to the Allies." His thin lips stretched into a grimace. "I suggest that you solve both problems with an immediate test of the weapon." Von Talkin turned back to the window.

Kraemer opened his mouth to protest that the weapon was not yet ready when von Talkin turned back to him with a suddenness that was surprising. "Failure," he said, "will find you explaining why to a far less patient audience."

Kraemer set his jaw. "I will not fail." He turned on his heel and left, left von Talkin to admire his handiwork while he went to make sure that the weapon was ready to be deployed.

/

 _She was only seven years old and the voices woke her. It was not that Mama and Papa and Papa's friend, Monsieur Kraemer, were shouting. It was that their whispers, their hushed words sounded so angry and worried and, in Papa's voice at least, sad._

 _Jeanne slid out of bed and crept to the half-open doorway. Light shone into her darkened bedroom from the kitchen and she pressed close to the door frame, trying to make out just what the grown-ups were talking about._

 _Footsteps approached the door and before Jeanne could scramble back into bed, Papa was standing in the doorway, looking down at her._

 _"What's the matter, Jeanne?" he asked, lifting her up into his arms. She buried her head in his chest. Papa carried her back to bed and tucked her in cozily. "You looked frightened."_

 _"Is Monsieur Kraemer angry at you and Mama?"_

 _Her question seemed to startle Papa because he didn't answer for a moment, but then he shook his head and squeezed her arm. "Don't worry, Stardust," he said. "I'll always protect you."_

/

Casián spared a quick glance at Jeanne Erso when she began to mumble in her sleep. He couldn't take his eyes off the road for very long – it was the middle of the night and a Nazi checkpoint could be around the next corner – but that one look convinced him that Jeanne Erso was in the middle of nightmare.

Her face tightened with something like fear and half-whispered words spilled past her lips.

She looked so small, curled in on herself with wisps of hair falling around her face.

Casián swallowed and looked back at the road ahead. Old, familiar feelings stirred in him, the need to protect and defend and preserve those who were weaker than himself. What made those feelings stupid was that Jeanne Erso had no need of protection, from what he could see. The list of charges against her and her behaviour when Dubois' men had gone to rescue her (Kay had told him everything) was more than enough to convince him that Jeanne Erso was very capable of taking care of herself.

So Casián pushed the feeling away.

It was for the best, he told himself. The last time he'd tried to protect those around them, he had failed. Risking that again was not worth it.

With a gasp like that of a drowning person, Jeanne startled awake, clutching at some medallion that hung from a cord around her neck. Casián kept both hands on the truck's steering wheel, kept his eyes forward, gave Jeanne time to bring her mind back from the world of nightmares and figure out what was real and what wasn't. He knew well enough how her thoughts would be rushing in a hundred different directions, trying to get a grasp on the situation.

"How much farther?" Jeanne asked.

"Maybe two hours."

"Oh." Out of the corner of his eye he saw her ball up her duffel bag into something that resembled a pillow – though Casián doubted it would be as comfortable – and reposition herself to find more sleep. Jeanne had probably not even been truly awake when she had asked about the length of the trip.

/

Jeanne was still half-asleep when a hand touched her shoulder.

"Hey." It was Casián. "We're here."

She yawned. To an outsider, she was sure that she looked unconcerned – cool, calm, and collected. But her insides roiled with anticipation and dread and a tension in her stomach that had not left her since her capture by the Resistance.

"There's Jeddah," said Casián, gesturing out the front of the truck with a water canteen to their destination ahead. "What's left of it, anyway."

From what Jeanne could see, the city looked like a war zone. Rubble and dust still rising in the air and far too many Nazi trucks and flags and uniforms everywhere. They were still a good distance away – Casián had parked their truck behind a rough outcropping of boulders – but the sight of so many enemy troops in the area made Jeanne's skin crawl. How could they hope to move through all that?

And escape would be difficult. Jeddah was a mountain city, hemmed in on three sides by towering cliffs and craggy peaks. The fourth side, from which they'd come, would more likely than not be crawling with Germans if they were discovered. If Saul was discovered.

Casián handed her the canteen before opening the truck door and jumping out. "We find Saul," he said, "we find your father."

Jeanne took a swig from the canteen and then followed him, grabbing her duffel bag as she went. She didn't know who she was more worried about seeing again – Saul or her father. Her relationship with both was complicated, to say the least.

When she came around to the back of the truck, Kay was just climbing out from the maze of furniture. He straightened his German uniform, brushing away the dust and bits of straw as best he could – which wasn't all that great. Jeanne didn't offer to help, though. Even if she'd felt so inclined, she doubted her offer would be appreciated or accepted.

"Follow me," Casián said and led Jeanne and Kay up a little higher into the cliffs.

As Casián sank onto the ground, a pair of binoculars already trained on Jeddah, Jeanne went through her duffel bag, taking out only what she thought would be strictly necessary. The rest would be better off in the truck.

"Where did you get that?" Kay said, peering over her shoulder. She hated the way he kept doing that. His blue eyes were piercing. Unsettling, really.

"What?" Casián said, lowering the binoculars.

It was a pistol, it was hers – well, pretty much hers – and there was no way she was giving it up.

"I know how to use it," she said before Casián could say anything.

Casián shook his head. "That's what I'm afraid of. Give it to me."

Now it was Jeanne's turn to shake her head. "We're minutes away from Jeddah. It's a war zone there."

"That's not the point." Now the binoculars were on the ground and he gave her his full attention. For some reason, she found that even more disconcerting than Kay's obvious disapproval. "Where did you get it?"

"I found it," said Jeanne, staring him down.

Kay huffed behind her. "Not the most convincing answer, I'd say."

Jeanne shifted so she could see both Kay and Casián. "Trust goes both ways."

Casián stared at her for a long moment but finally just shrugged and turned his attention back on Jeddah. Jeanne let out a deep breath. To tell the truth, that whole conversation had gone better than she'd thought it would.

"Here." Casián passed her the binoculars.

Jeanne steadied them in her hands and focused them on Jeddah. "What's with all the trucks? The troops?"

"Your old friend. Saul Garreau. He's been attacking the supply trucks."

"Why? What are they bringing in?"

"It's what they're taking out." Casián guided her eyes to the left, toward a cathedral that might have once been grand but was now a desecrated shell. Jeanne fingered her medallion, wrapping the cord around her fingers once, twice. It was an unconscious action, born of habit.

She could see German soldiers carrying out framed paintings and plates and crosses, all of which winked gold and silver in the sunlight.

"It's treasure," said Casián. "Treasure to fund the weapon."

"The weapon your father's building," Kay interjected. When Jeanne whirled around to give him a piece of her mind, he was gazing out toward Jeddah, a frown line between his eyes. The naked worry on his face made him seem almost human.

Almost.

"Tell me again why he's coming with us?" she said, turning back to Casián.

Casián shook his head. "Kay's not coming with us. He has his own mission." He glanced over at Kay. "Nothing to do with Saul." He stuffed the binoculars into his jacket and stood still for a moment, gazing down at Jeddah. "Let's go."

Jeanne bunched up her duffel bag and walked back to the truck to stash it under her seat. And then she joined Casián and Kay as they began their descent into Jeddah.


	6. IN JEDDAH

Bode Reichardt sat in a shadowy cavern, strapped to a wooden chair that grew more uncomfortable the longer he sat in it. He tried to shift around, find a more comfortable position, but these partisans knew their work and hadn't wanted to risk him escaping. Not that he had anywhere to go.

A window-like hole had been hacked out of one of the rock walls that formed the cavern and Bode could see Saul Garreau watching him through the 'window'.

A man came to stand beside Saul and Bode watched as the two of them shared a whispered conversation before the stranger entered the cave.

"My name is Tor Gillette," the man said. His tone was conversational, but Bode hardly heard him, so fixated was he by what the man held. A long, shiny syringe filled with an amber-coloured liquid. "I assume you're wondering what this is," Tor said, holding up the syringe. "Well, it's something I've been experimenting with. This is the best batch yet."

Bode swallowed down something sour and vile in the back his throat. It was difficult with the gag they'd tied around his mouth.

"Of course," said Tor, "there is one downside." He moved closer and rolled up Bode's sleeve, exposing his wrist. "The serum will make you talk, no doubt about it. But there is also the chance you will go mad. Unfortunate, but a necessary risk at this stage."

Bode's eyes widened and he tried to shout around the gag in his mouth right before the serum left the needle and entered his bloodstream.

/

There was a tension in Jeddah that was palpable. Jeanne followed in Casián's wake as he walked, sure-footed and confident, through the throngs of people that pressed in on every side. There were the Nazis, of course, but also plenty of ragged Frenchmen and women and children.

She spotted several notices tacked up on numerous buildings. They were wanted posters for a Wehrmacht supply driver, Bode Reichardt. A hefty reward was offered for an information leading to his capture.

"So what's the plan now?" Jeanne asked, annoyed with herself for not asking _before_ they entered Jeddah.

Casián must have spotted something – or someone – ahead that he didn't want to bump into because he turned abruptly down a side street. "I had a contact here, one of Saul's men, but he's just gone missing."

"Gone missing?"

Casián seemed more intent on watching the streets than on her question, but he finally said, "His sister will be looking for him at the old cathedral – that was our usual rendezvous point. She'll be waiting there, we'll give her your name, and hope that gets us a meeting with Saul."

Jeanne turned on him. "Hope?" What good was hope?

"Yes," Casián said. "Rebellions are built on hope."

Well, maybe so, but it didn't give her much confidence in the success of their mission.

Harsh commands echoed along the street. "Hands up!" A group of Nazi thugs were roughing up a couple men. "Show me some identification!" one of them shouted.

They continued on, not sparing a backwards look at the unfortunate men.

"Is this all because your defector?" Jeanne asked.

Casián didn't answer. "Wait for me," he said suddenly and before Jeanne could ask what was going on, he had already disappeared into the crowd.

Jeanne felt naked, standing alone in the middle of a strange city street, surrounded by the enemy. To her right was the entrance to an alley. The smell of cooking food – and not terribly good food – drifted her way. It looked like a bunch of people whose homes had been destroyed had banded together in the alley and were now trying to eke out a living.

"Would you be willing to trade that medallion for a blessing?" a voice called.

It had come from the shadows of the alley.

Instinctively, Jeanne felt for the medallion, tucked under the layers of her shirt and vest and a scarf that she'd thrown on at the last minute. Nobody could have seen it. Now she looked closer at the alley and found, near the entrance, two monks. One sitting, one standing.

"Yes, I was talking to you," said the one sitting down. "I am Chirutt Imre."

Jeanne approached, but cautiously. "How did you know I was wearing a medallion?"

The monk smiled. "For that answer, you must pay. What do you know about Saint Lucia?"

She stepped closer. "Saint...who?" Then she frowned in surprise. This close, she could see the monk's eyes. Covered with a milky substance, open and blank. Blind. Though the other one, a giant of a man, was not blind. Perhaps he had caught a glimpse of her medallion.

"Saint Lucia," the monk repeated. "She is on your medallion."

"I don't know anything," Jeanne said. "My mother gave this to me a long time ago." Her throat tightened at the memory.

And then Casián was back and pulling her away from the strange monks. "Let's go. We're not here to make friends."

She twisted around to catch one last glimpse of the strange pair. "Who are they?"

Casián shook his head. "They call themselves the Guardians."

"Guardians of what?"

"Who can tell? The cathedral, the treasure, their faith? But now there is nothing left to protect, so they just make trouble for everyone." He spoke distractedly. He'd become much more watchful, jumpy even, his head whipping back and forth as though he expected a squad of soldiers to descend on them at any moment. It quickened Jeanne's heartbeat, too.

"You seem awfully tense all of a sudden," said Jeanne.

"We have to hurry," was all he said. "This town- It's ready to blow."

/

What he had said, it wasn't an idle thought or something said to sound dramatic. For the last few minutes, Casián had watched with increasing worry as partisans – cleverly disguised, but still so obviously Saul's people – had moved into positions around the square, on rooftops, in the alleys, even milling among the Germans.

It was only a matter of time before some signal was given and the city centre turned into a battleground.

The rebels' target was easy to spot. A large detachment of German troops marched behind a large, slow-moving truck, a truck weighted down with stolen gold and other valuables. Saul would probably not call himself a mercenary, but that is what he was. A patriot, perhaps, in his own way, but a mercenary first and foremost.

A grenade arced gracefully through the air from one of the rooftops, coming to land directly in front of the supply truck. It exploded in a storm of dust and the front of the truck folded inward, coming to a sudden stop. Almost immediately, it was swarmed by over a dozen ragged partisans.

"The gold! Get the gold!" one of them shouted.

"Looks like we found Saul's men," said Jeanne.

Casián didn't answer. They had no time for words right now, only actions. Get to the cathedral, meet with the girl, and hopefully be taken to Saul. That was still the plan. He had no other.

The only problem was that they were caught in the crossfire with nowhere to go.

He took off running across the square, exchanging bullets with the soldiers that shot his way. He didn't have to look to see if Jeanne were following. He knew she was.

They made it to a doorway, a little farther across the square, a little closer to their goal. Casián leaned against the door frame to catch his breath, to get a moment to plan their next move.

/

A child's wails cut through the chaos of the plaza and Jeanne searched frantically with her eyes for the source of the sound. There! A little girl, perhaps five or six, stood on the edge of the square, crying. Jeanne had seen the little girl earlier in the company of her mother. They'd been shopping.

There was no time to think, so she acted. When she darted out and away from the doorway, she heard Casián call her name with frustration, but she paid him no attention. The little girl was more important than staying safe. How well she herself knew the feeling of helplessness, of _aloneness_ , of sobs that seem as if they'll tear your chest apart with their shuddering intensity.

She reached and girl and drew her tight, looking around for some form of cover.

"Marie!" came a high-pitched wail and when Jeanne turned in the direction of the voice, she saw a woman – the girl's mother, she recalled – hurtling toward the two of them.

" _Merci, merci..._ " the woman whispered as she snatched Marie from Jeanne's arms. She disappeared into one of the side streets. Jeanne would have said a prayer for their safety, but she had to worry about her own. With her arms empty, she was much more aware of how exposed her position was.

A few metres away sat the burning husk of the supply truck, upended and vulnerable. It would make as good cover as anything else she could see.

/

Casián watched Jeanne move behind the shattered supply truck. It was a miracle she had survived this long and-

Movement from above and across the square caught his eye.

It was one of Saul's rebels, grenade in hand, preparing to fling it in the direction of the truck – perhaps to destroy whatever treasure still remained.

With one fluid motion Casián lifted his gun and shot the rebel through the heart. Jeanne would not die today if he could help it. They still needed her as a calling card to present to Saul.

The rebel pitched off the roof to the street below. If Casián's bullet hadn't killed him, the ensuing explosion surely did. And when he took his attention from the explosion, he caught one of Saul's rebels staring at him, the knowledge of what had just happened sure on his face.


	7. ONE CLOSE ENCOUNTER TOO MANY

"Come on!" Casián pulled Jeanne away from the smouldering remains of the supply truck and into a street that led away from the square and, hopefully, to the cathedral.

Behind them, Saul's partisans and the Nazis still fought, exchanging bullets that burned through the air. But as he and Jeanne put distance between themselves and the fighting, the streets grew quieter.

Quieter, that is, until they crashed almost head-long into a squad of soldiers.

He was a few steps behind Jeanne and before he knew what was happening she was in the middle of the soldiers, cut off and helpless. He couldn't even get a clear shot in the melee and was just about to jump in after her when he noticed something peculiar: the amount of soldiers standing lessened every second.

Jeanne was a blur in the middle of it all, kicking, leaping, striking. All he could do was watch as she took out close to a dozen Wehrmacht soldiers, one after another.

/

"Impressive," was all Casián said when she finished. And it was. Not a shot had been fired. It was good, clean work that might have even gotten her a bit of praise from Saul if these were the old days.

She shrugged and tugged at her vest to straighten it. "You work with Saul for any length of time, you pick up some things." Then she stopped abruptly, head cocked, listening. Footsteps. And they were getting closer.

Jeanne whirled around just as a German officer turned into the side street.

She squeezed the trigger and the instant after she did, she recognized the officer as he swiftly ducked.

"Not the enemy," said Kay, sounding peeved at her lack of observation.

"What are you doing here?" Casián said. "I thought you were-"

Kay shook his head. An understanding look, a moment of sorrow passed between him and Casián, but it was so short-lived and so quiet that the next moment Jeanne wondered if she'd imagined the whole thing.

"I thought there were a few too many explosions for a couple of people 'blending in'," Kay said.

Casián only shrugged, but Jeanne didn't particularly like the bitingly sarcastic turn of speech the British agent seemed to always have.

/

They went quickly and quietly along the streets of Jeddah with Casián in the lead. They were close to the old cathedral now and he was glad. He wanted to find Saul and figure out what the supply driver had told him and get back to Y4 and all that he'd left behind to take Jeanne Erso halfway across the country.

They came across a rubble-filled clearing that had once been a lush green park. The landscape was now studded with Nazis.

He and the others turned back immediately to go back the way they'd come but it was too late.

"Halt!"

He turned around slowly, slowly and came face to face with a German officer, a captain with a face lined by war. He could feel Jeanne's presence beside him, hear the way her breath trembled like a sparrow about to take flight.

The captain stepped a little closer. When he spoke, he addressed Kay.

"Where are you taking these prisoners?"

Kay cleared his throat. "I'm taking these prisoners to incarcerate them in-in-"

It was at that moment of hesitation that Casián knew the game was up. He could see it in the captain's face.

"Einreich! Haus!" the captain shouted. "Take charge of these prisoners. And I would appreciate a look at your identification papers, lieutenant," he said, addressing Kay.

Two privates loped over to where Jeanne and Casián stood and snapped handcuffs over their wrists. Casián's jaw clenched. Jeanne gave him a single glance before snapping her eyes in front again.

Kay shook his head. "Sir, I am sure that if you just point me in the right direction..."

The captain shook his head. "Your papers, lieutenant."

They were all going to be very dead in a matter of minutes.

Footsteps crunched on gravelly rubble. The swish of a monk's robe caught Casián's attention.

"Let them pass in peace," came a voice from the opposite end of the clearing.

It was one of the Guardians that Jeanne had spoken to earlier, he would almost swear it. But what was the monk doing here now? The rebels' trouble with the Nazis had never been a concern of the Guardians, as far as he knew.

"Let them pass in peace," the monk repeated, walking straight and true despite the blindness of his eyes.

The German captain looked faintly annoyed. "Old troublemaker..." he muttered.

The monk continued to walk forward, coming closer and closer to the captain. He held a staff in his left hand but did not seem to lean on it or use it to feel the ground as Casián had seen other blind men do. No, it seemed more like a-

The captain cocked his Luger and took aim at the monk, who was now almost close enough to touch.

There was a moment's hesitation in which the world seemed to still. Casián held his breath.

And then the monk leapt into action, smacking away the Luger from the now surprised captain's hand and jabbing the officer in the throat with the staff.

Casián grabbed Jeanne's hand and pulled her behind a large chunk of decapitated wall. Bullets would begin to fly any second and with their hands still cuffed there was little they could do to help. Kay followed. He had a side-arm, but there was too much chance that the monk would be hit.

And this Guardian seemed to be doing fine on his own.

The rest of the captain's men had now pulled out their own weapons, but it was uncanny, the way the monk fought. He felled the soldiers one by one, dodging their bullets and going for their throats or stomachs.

When at last the monk stood in the middle of the rubble, surrounded by felled soldiers, a grin spread over his face.

/

It wasn't over. Jeanne had learned that the hard way. It was never over. The German captain – the first to fall and the first to recover – propped himself up on one elbow and took aim at Chirutt Imre.

"Look out!" Jeanne shouted.

A shower of bullets stopped the captain before he ever pulled the trigger.

She looked across the rubble in the direction of the shots and saw Chirutt's companion, the hulking, silent monk who had watched her so quietly and closely during her conversation with Chirutt.

"You almost shot me," Chirutt said and she couldn't tell if the complaint in his voice was real or not.

"You're welcome," his friend said gruffly and moved among the unconscious bodies.

Casián emerged from behind the broken wall and Jeanne followed him with Kay coming behind.

"Clear of hostiles, then," said Kay.

He had spoken in French, but when Chirutt's companion saw him, he took aim.

"No!" Casián shouted.

"He's with us," said Jeanne, though she didn't much like to admit it.

"They're all right," said Chirutt. Only then did the giant lower his weapon.

/

Casián pulled Kay to the side after retrieving the key from one of the privates and releasing his and Jeanne's cuffs.

"You didn't find her?" he asked, watching Kay closely. The agent had not been himself ever since Mora had announced the trip to Jeddah.

Kay shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it right now, Casián."

"Then you'd better go back to the truck and get it ready. We might need to leave quicker than I thought."

He watched his friend – his only friend, really, in this whole mess – march back the way they'd come and bit back a sigh. The time for introspection and regret was not now.

When he rejoined the others, he was just in time to hear Jeanne say, "Can you get us to Saul Garreau?" Casián shook his head. The last thing they needed was a couple of the Guardians tagging along and drawing attention.

He was just about to say something, when rebels – Saul's rebels – flooded the bombed-out park. They had guns and the advantage of surprise and had him and Jeanne and the others surrounded before the Guardians could answer Jeanne's question.

"Can't you see we are no friend of the Germans?" the blind monk said.

A rebel kicked Casián in the back of his knees. He fell to the ground. "Tell that to this one," the rebel growled. "He killed our men."

Casián swallowed a curse.

"Anyone who hurts me or my friends will answer to Saul Garreau," Jeanne said in a clear, firm voice.

"And why is that?" the rebel who'd spoken before sneered.

"Because-" Casián heard the hesitation in her voice. "Because I am Jyn Erso, daughter of Galen Erso."

There was a long pause and then, "Take them!"

A sack was thrown over Casián's head, but not before he saw them do the same to the blind monk. The _blind_ monk. With idiots like these serving him, how was Saul still even in the game?


	8. IMPRISONED

Casián was kicked onto the floor of what he assumed to be a prison cell. They had not taken the sack off his head but he felt the ropes being untied from his hands.

As soon as his hands were free, he tore the sack away and lunged at the rebel who'd unbound him, the scar-faced man who had seen him shoot one of Saul's men. He grappled with the man for his rifle, but the rebel whipped him across the face with the rifle butt and Casián slumped to the ground.

The rebel gave him a kick in the stomach before slamming the cell door.

Casián stood up carefully, holding his stomach and wincing. He and the two Guardians had been dumped into the same cell, one that looked like it had been hewed out of solid rock. The only man-made part of the cell was the heavy iron bars that blocked their escape and the window to the next cell over. He leaned against the bars, testing their strength.

Behind him, one of the monks was muttering. Praying. It was the blind one. The other had a look of something near disgust on his face. "You're praying?" he said. "Really?" He turned to Casián. "He's praying for the door to open."

The blind monk paused his praying. "It bothers him," he said calmly, "because he knows it is possible. Baz Malbusse was once the most devoted of us all."

Maybe it was possible, but the door wasn't opening. "I'm beginning to think your God and I have different priorities," Casián said and reached inside his jacket. Saul's men had not bothered to search any of them, another indication of their lack of common sense. He always carried a lock-pick in case of emergencies like this.

"Relax," said the blind monk. "We've been in worse places than this one."

Casián kept a wary eye on the rebel guards outside the cell as he worked the lock. "This is a first for me." He'd been in tight spots before, but there was nothing like being held by one of your supposed allies.

The blind monk leaned back against the rock wall. "There is more than one sort of prison, friend." He paused a moment before adding, "I sense that you carry yours wherever you go."

Casián looked away then and redoubled his efforts to conquer the lock.

Better for the monk to go back to his praying and leave the philosophizing for another time.

/

They marched her without ceremony through a series of man-made caverns, rough caves that Saul and his rebels must have fashioned once they ran out of hiding places in Jeddah proper. She had never been here before, but then, she hadn't seen Saul in four years. Obviously a lot had changed.

Her captors deposited her in a large room that looked to be Saul's personal quarters.

Some things never changed, she thought. Saul's tastes were as spartan as ever.

A figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the room. Seeing him again, especially like this, with one leg missing and a new scar standing out stark white against the darkness of his face...well, it stirred up old feelings of loyalty inside her. But she pushed them down. Saul had lost her loyalty on the day he abandoned her.

"Jeanne?" Saul rasped. "Is it really you?"

"Must be quite a surprise." She kept her tone cool.

He grimaced. "Are we not still friends?"

"The last time I saw you, you gave me a knife and a loaded pistol and told me to wait in the bunker until daybreak." She shook her head. "You left me behind."

Saul grunted. "I knew you were safe; you were already the best soldier I had."

"I was sixteen!"

"I was protecting you," Saul half-shouted. "You were the daughter of Galen Erso, a scientist working for them. People were starting to figure that out, people who wanted to use you as-as a hostage." He paused for a moment, gasping for air. "Not a day goes by that I don't think of you, Jeanne. But you came today...of all days-" He stopped abruptly, eyes moving back and forth as they always did when he was puzzling out something. "It's a trap. Isn't it?"

Jeanne frowned. "What?"

"The driver! The message! All of it." His eyes narrowed as he came a step closer. "They-they sent you, didn't they? They sent you to kill me."

Something twisted inside Jeanne's gut. Saul had always been paranoid, but this bordered on insanity. Despite her lack of liking or respect for Saul, how could he ever think that she would plot to kill him?

"The Allies want my father," she said crisply. "They believe he's sent you a message about the weapon the Nazis are hiding and they thought that by sending me, you'd actually help them out."

Saul watched her closely. "And what is it that you want, Jeanne?"

She shrugged. "They wanted an introduction, they got one. I'm out now – the rest of you can do whatever you want."

"You care nothing for the cause?"

Now it was Jeanne's turn to step closer, to make her point clear. "The cause? Seriously? The Resistance, the rebels...whatever you're calling yourself these days, all it's ever brought me is pain." Her mother died for the cause. Her father turned traitor against the cause. And neither of those facts was as painful as the thought that they'd loved the cause – or, in the case of her father, their own safety – more than her.

"You can stand to see the Nazi flag reigning across our beloved country?"

Coldness that she had not known lurked in her heart crept into her voice as she said, "It's not a problem if you don't look up."

Saul stared at her for a long moment, perhaps trying to gauge her sincerity.

"Come," he said finally. "I want to show you something."

/

Orson Kraemer surveyed the city of Jeddah through his binoculars, uneasily aware of the presence of von Talkin only a few feet away.

He was not worried about being seen from Jeddah. The observation post was atop the tallest cliff surrounding the city and was cleverly camouflaged so as to be invisible to both the naked eye and any stray enemy airplane that might pass by. No, Kraemer was only worried about watchful eyes inside the bunker-like structure.

"The Fuhrer is awaiting my report," von Talkin said.

It was like him to constantly allude to his close friendship with Hitler, but Kraemer was unimpressed. "One would have hoped that he would have been here for such a momentous occasion," Kraemer said.

Von Talkin waved away the comment. "I thought it prudent to save you from any potential embarrassment."

It was all Kraemer could do to bite back an angry retort. The only potential embarrassment would have been von Talkin's in hoping for Kraemer's failure in front of the Fuhrer and being disappointed. But after a few deep breaths and a reminder that after today, von Talkin would no longer be a concern, he simply said, "Your concern is unwarranted."

"If only saying it would make it so."

Kraemer's jaw twitched in his effort to ignore the barbed remark. "All of our forces have been evacuated and I stand ready to destroy the entire valley."

Von Talkin shook his head. "That won't be necessary. Today is about making a statement, not showing the entirety of our hand. Destroying Jeddah will be enough."

Kraemer could barely mask his fury. The first test of the weapon should have been a glorious thing, a bold move that would make history – not become a footnote in the accounts of later triumphs. Destroying the entire valley would powerfully shown what the weapon was capable of and set a precedent for further attacks.

"Target Jeddah," he ordered through the radio. The weapon was far, far away. "Prepare a single missile."

A few seconds passed and then a voice crackled through the radio's static. "Sir, we're in position, ready to-"

"Fire!" Kraemer ordered. He wished he could be there to push the button himself. Anything to be away from von Talkin's watchful eyes.

/

All his attempts to pick the lock had failed. Whatever their other problems, Saul and his men knew how to install a lock and keep it maintained. He'd taken to watching the guards through the slot in the door. They were playing some sort of card game and trading dirty jokes.

He preferred watching the guards, however, than joining his cellmates in whatever they were quietly discussing. Every Guardian he'd ever met had rubbed him the wrong way, with their misplaced piety and obsequious manner.

Chirutt's fighting skills and Malbusse's taciturnity were different, at least, but still didn't inspire him to attempt a conversation.

"Who's the one in the next cell?" Chirutt asked suddenly.

Casián turned to watch as Malbusse looked through the bars along the wall, into the cell beside theirs.

"A Wehrmacht driver." Malbusse spat the words out like a curse.

"Driver?" Casián's eyes widened. A Wehrmacht driver? It had to be-

"I'll kill him," Malbusse exclaimed, reaching through the bars. Casián could see his arms reaching, grasping for the pilot with deadly intent and he sprang away from the door and wrenched Malbusse back.

"We need him," said Casián, tightening his hold on the Guardian's shoulder.

He had a feeling that Malbusse would have made another attempt on the driver's life – maybe his, too – if Chirutt hadn't quietly said something that Casián didn't catch. Malbusse muttered to himself, but he went to the opposite end of the cell.

With trouble averted, Casián looked through the bars and saw a thin, shivering young man in the uniform of a Wehrmacht private. His arms were wrapped around himself and he couldn't have been older than twenty.

"Hey," Casián said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. The kid was obviously traumatized by whatever Saul and his thugs had done to him. "Hey, are you the driver? The one Galen sent? Galen Erso? You know that name?"

The driver stirred, still shivering, and looked around slowly as if seeing the cell for the first time. "I-I brought the message." His teeth chattered. "I'm the pilot. I'm the pilot," he repeated, as if trying to convince himself of that fact. "I'm the pilot."

"What's wrong with him?" Chirutt asked.

Casián shook his head. "Where is Galen Erso?"

The driver made no reply.


	9. FRACTURES

**Author's Note: Okay. *deep breath* This is the chapter where I reveal my version of the Death Star and, yeah, I'm pretty nervous to hear what everyone has to say because the Death Star is such a huge part of the Star Wars universe and I'm not totally in the fandom and I don't want to make people mad or anything. So even if you think my WWII-ized version of the Death Star is lame, know that I spent a LOT of time thinking about it and perfecting it. Please let me know what you think!**

/

"This is the message I was sent."

Saul handed her a thin metal cylinder with the top unscrewed. Jeanne took it with hands that trembled slightly and pulled out the sheet of paper rolled up inside. Paper her father had touched. Paper on which he had written words, perhaps his last words. She didn't know if she wanted to read them. What if they confirmed everything she'd feared?

And, worse, what if they shattered the lies she'd told herself for so long?

Finally, though, she swallowed down her fears and unrolled the paper.

 _Saul, if you are reading this, then perhaps there is a chance to end the war. Perhaps there's a chance to explain myself and, though I don't dare hope for too much, a chance for Jeanne, if she's alive, if you can possibly find her, to let her know that my love for her has never faded and how desperately I've missed her. Jeanne, my Stardust, I can't imagine what you think of me._

Tears fell on the paper, causing the ink to run. Jeanne swiped at her cheeks. It would be no good to ruin the letter.

 _When I was taken, I faced some bitter truths. I was told that, soon enough, Kraemer would have you as well. As time went by, I knew that you were either dead or so well hidden that he would never find you. I knew if I refused to work, if I took my own life, it would only be a matter of time before Kraemer realized he no longer needed me to complete the project. So I did the one thing that nobody expected: I lied. I learned to lie. I played the part of a beaten man resigned to the sanctuary of his work. I made myself indispensable, and all the while I laid the groundwork of my revenge._

Her breath caught in her throat. All this time, all along, all the times she had suffered shame because her father was a traitor...and it wasn't true. It wasn't true.

 _And the day is coming soon when this project, this battle station, will be unleashed. When the engineers speak of it, they call it Todesbringer. Death-bringer. Some may say the weapon is in the battle station. But it is more than that...the battle station is the weapon. It is a mobile unit able to travel anywhere and equipped with such advanced camouflage that it will be difficult to locate. Major Kraemer put me to work developing the camouflage, though I had a hand in other parts of the project as well. Simply put, this battle station is a killing machine such as has not been seen before. It is supplied with – and can manufacture – missiles of such extreme lethal quality that a single one, properly programmed, can destroy an entire city when powerful shock-waves from the initial blast pulse outward._

 _There is one other thing you must know. A second stage to this already horrific weapon is being explored, one that could wipe out populations, not just places. Kraemer has removed me from this part of development, perhaps thinking that it would move me to finally escape or take my life. I was able to learn some details before my removal and they speak for themselves._

 _This stage will arm the missiles with a radioactive substance, mixed with a more traditional poisonous gas. This will enable the radiation to kill anyone within a several miles' radius of the missile's impact, while also clearing away in a few days so that the Nazis can move in and take control of that particular area._

 _I've placed a weakness deep within the system. A flaw so small and powerful, they'll never find it. But, Jeanne, if you're listening...so much of my life has been wasted. I try to think of you only in the moments when I'm strong, because the pain of not having you with me...your mother. Our family. The pain of that loss is so overwhelming I risk failing even now. It's just so hard not to think of you, to think of where you are. My Stardust._

 _Saul, the reactor's energy core, that's the key. That's the place I've laid my trap. It's well hidden and unstable, one blast to any part of it will destroy the entire station. You'll need the plans, the structural plans to find the reactor. I know there's a complete engineering archive in the data vault at the installations factory at Skaref. Any pressurized explosion to the reactor core will set off a chain reaction that will destroy the entire station._

That was where the letter ended. It was enough. Jeanne fell to her knees, the paper slipping from her hands. It was too much, too much to process in these very few minutes. Her father was alive, her father was not a traitor, her father still loved her and thought of her, and all the while she had almost hated him. She didn't know whether the tears or the guilt weighed more.

The sound of rumbling, like far-off thunder, caught her attention.

She looked out the window just like Saul was doing and gasped. Jeddah had disappeared in a roiling cloud of dust and the horizon line along with it.

/

The prison shook. Rock dust drifted down from the ceiling of the cell, coating him and Malbusse and Chirutt. He could see the guards' faces, their worry turning into panic as the shaking under their feet grew stronger. It took only moments for them to abandon their card game...and their prisoners.

Casián slammed his fist against the door in anger and it gave way. The tremor – whatever had brought it on – had loosened the hinges and when Malbusse saw the situation, he made short work of the door.

Now free, he and Malbusse and Chirutt found their belongings where the guards had dumped them. It felt good to have his weapon strapped to his side again. Malbusse tossed Chirutt's staff into the air and the blind monk caught it easily. At another time, Casián would have asked how it was done, but the earth's shaking had grown stronger and he knew they were running out of time.

Jeanne. He had to find her and get her to safety.

"Where are you going?" Chirutt asked as he made for the stairs that led out of the prison.

"I've got to find Jeanne." Casián nodded toward the cell that still held the Wehrmacht driver. "Get the defector," he said. "We still need him."

"I'll get the defector," Malbusse growled and levelled his monstrosity of an automatic weapon at the cell.

As Casián took the stairs two at at time, he heard the cell door crash to the ground.

/

The dust cloud was coming closer, close enough that Jeanne could see the boulders and chunks of rubble it had caught up, all heading toward her and Saul. The broken body of Jeddah. But despite the danger, she couldn't force her legs to work. She still knelt on the floor, numb and cold and quietly coming to pieces on the inside.

Someone burst into the room.

"Jeanne! We've got to go!"

She looked up. It was Casián. He had paused for a moment when he caught sight of Saul, but now he came closer, crouching down on the floor to meet her eyes. "I know where your father is." He took her arm and helped her up, so gently and kindly that tears stung her eyes.

"Go with him, Jeanne," Saul said hoarsely. "You must go."

"Come with us," she said, realizing that she _did_ want him to come along. In so many ways, he had been more of a father to her than her own father and she had wasted far too much time being bitter and angry about all the things he had and hadn't done for her.

But Saul shook his head. "I will run no longer."

"Come on," Casián said, his voice urgent.

"But you must save yourself," said Jeanne, ignoring Casián.

"No, Jeanne."

She knew he would not back down, so she went with Casián, running as the roof of the cave threatened to crash in on them.

"Save the rebellion!" Saul shouted after them. "Save the dream!"

They was the last words she ever heard him say.

/

Casián burst out of Saul's mountain fortress with Jeanne right behind him. Chirutt and Malbusse and the defector were already there, staring with frightened eyes at the churning debris that was moving swiftly toward them.

Kay would be here any moment. Any-

"Get in!" a familiar voice shouted above the din of thousands of tons of chewed-up concrete moving their way. The truck barrelled towards them and Casián jumped into the cab. Jeanne and the others scrambled into the back.

"We're in," said Casián. "Let's go!"

Kay hadn't even slowed the truck, but now it picked up speed. "I'm not very optimistic about our odds," Casián heard him mutter as they rode away from the ruins of Jeddah, only a few metres ahead of the wave of rubble that threatened to engulf them.

/

From inside the observation post, Kraemer felt like clapping his hands together. Perhaps he would have even done so, had von Talkin not been present. As it was, he schooled his expression into something akin to nonchalance, though inwardly he was ecstatic. The weapon had worked! Now nothing would stop him. His position in the Fuhrer's favour was secure.

"I believe I owe you an apology, Major Kraemer," von Talkin said. "Your work exceeds even my expectations."

High praise, indeed.

"And you'll tell the Fuhrer as much?" Kraemer said.

Von Talkin inclined his head. "I will tell him that his patience with your...misdemeanours has been rewarded with a weapon that will bring a swift end to the war."

"That was only an inkling of its destructive capabilities," Kraemer said, more to himself than to anyone in the bunker.

"I will tell him that I'll be taking control of the weapon I spoke of years earlier." Von Talkin's eyes narrowed. "Effective immediately."

For a moment, Kraemer did not understand. It was as though his brain refused to process von Talkin's words until seconds too late for him to make an adequate rebuttal. But when the realization broke, he spoke louder than he had intended. "We stand here, looking over _my_ achievement, not yours!" he shouted.

Displays of emotion only egged von Talkin on. Kraemer knew that. But he couldn't help it. He had slaved over the weapon for close to a decade and now von Talkin threatened to take it all away just to advance his status in the Reich.

Von Talkin smiled dryly. "I'm afraid these recent security breaches have revealed just how inadequate a military commander you truly make."

"The breaches have been filled." Kraemer spoke slowly, struggling to rein in his temper. "Jeddah has been silenced."

"You think the driver acted alone?" Von Talkin shook his head, looking like a disappointed parent. "He was dispatched from our weapons division at Eisenberg. Galen Erso's division."

So Galen was to blame.

Kraemer turned on his heel. "We'll see about this," was all he said, but it was enough. For now, at any rate.


	10. WORRIES

Kay took to the back roads and when Casián was reasonably sure that they had escaped the notice of the Germans near Jeddah, he pulled out the radio to contact Y4 and plan their next move.

Casián grabbed the truck's radio receiver, but before he sent out the call, he looked over at Kay. "What happened back there?"

"It's not good," said Kay. His tone was bitingly sharp, as though to be anything else would invite a breakdown that at one time Casián thought could never happen. "I'd rather not talk about it right now."

Casián looked away. Better to let his friend grieve in peace. He turned his attention back to the radio, back to all he was going to say to Dubois, but found the words eluding his grasp. He had never seen Kay like this and he had known the agent for almost four years now. Usually, Kay's coolness under fire and lack of emotion bordered on inhuman.

But not today.

A heaviness settled in Casián's chest. He established radio contact with one of Dubois' men and asked for further instructions after relaying news of the destruction of Jeddah. For some reason, he found himself hoping that Dubois would send back word that he'd changed his mind about Galen Erso and that Casián could extract the scientist.

"Commander Dubois' orders stand," the voice on the other end said, crackling with static. "You are to proceed with all haste and stick to the original plan."

Casián nodded. "Understood."

/

Jeanne sat in the back of the truck that was now empty of furniture, head in her hands, eyes closed, as she attempted to slow the thoughts that danced through her mind. Most of them about her father, but there were memories of Saul as well. Her mother...

"Baz, tell me," she heard Chirutt say. "The whole city? All of it?"

There was a heavy silence.

"Tell me," Chirutt insisted.

"All of it," Baz finally said.

/

It was a few hours later when the truck stopped. Casián came around to the back. "We're close to Eisenberg now."

Jeanne looked up. "Is that where my father is?"

"I think so."

The defector, a trembling young man who hadn't said a word yet, darted a look at Jeanne. "You're-you're Galen's daughter." His French was passable, but the German accent was thick on his tongue.

"You know him?"

"I'm Bode. Bode Reichardt. I'm the driver."

Jeanne leaned forward. This man knew her father, had seen him recently. "You brought the message."

"Yes." Bode nodded. "Your father...he said I could help make things right, if I was brave enough. If I followed what was in my heart. Guess I was too late."

Jeanne shook her head. "No. It wasn't too late."

Baz snorted. "Seems pretty late to me."

She turned on the monk. "We can beat the people who did this. My father's message, I've read it. He called the weapon the 'death-bringer', but the Nazis have no idea that there's a way to defeat it." She shook her head. "You're wrong about my father."

She could not begin to describe how good it felt to have real, concrete evidence of the fact that her father wasn't a traitor. The relief. The joy, even.

"He did build it," said Kay who, it appeared, had finally decided to join them.

"Because he knew they'd do it without him," Jeanne fired back. "My father made a choice and he sacrificed himself for the cause. He's rigged a trap inside it. That's why he sent you," she said to Bode. "To bring that message."

"You have that message, right?" Casián said.

Jeanne hesitated. She didn't want to see the look on his face – on any of their faces – when she admitted the truth. "Everything happened so quickly..." she managed. But it was a weak excuse and no one knew it better than she.

"Did you see it?" Casián asked Bode.

The defector shook his head.

"You don't believe me," Jeanne said. She was angry, but mostly with herself.

"I'm not the one you've got to convince," Casián said softly.

"I believe her," Chirutt said suddenly.

Casián sighed. He sounded done, finished with the whole mess. "Well, that's good to know."

"What kind of a trap?" said Baz. "You said your father made a trap."

"The reactor. That's where it is; he's been hiding it for years." Jeanne briefly outlined the weapon's capabilities and watched the expressions on the faces around her go from neutral to worried to...well, Bode looked sickened and Baz was angry and Casián's face showed growing disgust. Only Chirutt and Kay remained calm.

"He said if you can blow the reactor, the whole system goes down," Jeanne continued. "You need to get word to Paris, to Y4."

"I've done that," said Casián.

"They have to know that the battle station can be destroyed. They have to get the plans from Skaref."

Casián shook his head. "I can't risk sending that. We're deep in German territory."

Jeanne lifted her chin. "Then we'll find my father and bring him back and he can tell them himself."

/

Driving at night could be difficult under the best of conditions and these were not the best of conditions. Eisenberg was in the middle of a mountainous wilderness and there were no real roads to follow. To make matters worse, rain beat against the front window in blinding sheets.

Casián kept a tight grip on the steering wheel. He dared not take his eyes off the road for a moment.

The defector, Bode Reichardt, sat sandwiched between him and Kay, giving directions as the truck bounced and banged over rocks and through pot-holes that Casián could only hope wouldn't tear the tires off or rip out the undercarriage.

"How much farther?" Casián said.

Beside him, Bode hesitated. "I-I'm not sure. I've never really come this way. But we're close, we're close. I'm sure of that."

Kay sniffed. "Chances of mission failure are at thirty-five percent and climbing."

Casián shook his head. He could do without Kay's strategic analysis right now.

And that's when the truck slammed into something with such force that for a moment Casián was sure the vehicle would flip over. His teeth ached from the impact and from the way he felt the truck sag and seem about to split open, he hoped they were within walking distance of their destination.

He jumped out to assess the damage.

It was bad.

The truck had smashed into a huge boulder, yes, but it had also become wedged between that boulder and a smaller one. The front was crumpled and twisted and he knew they couldn't salvage it.

The rain pelted down, harder than ever.

/

Casián had come around to the back of the truck and was now sheltering against the rain along with Kay and Bode. Jeanne worked on checking and re-checking her supplies with a feverish intensity. It kept the ache of hope from washing over her too fully. Her father was, perhaps, only a kilometre or so away. She could _see_ him again.

"Bode, where's the lab?" Casián said.

"The research facility?" Bode looked like a drowned puppy, shivering and dripping with rain, but there was a nervous, tense sort of daring on his face that Jeanne knew well from her own experiences.

"Yeah. Where is it?" Casián said.

"It's just over the ridge," said Bode, speaking with something of the assurance and authority of an expert.

"And that's a supply depot in front of us, right?"

Through the rain, Jeanne could barely make out the lights and general structure of some sort of building. Not for the first time she was grateful that they'd brought Bode along, though most everyone else seemed to view him with suspicion. He knew her father and would be invaluable in rescuing him.

"We'll have to hope there's some sort of vehicle left to steal," Casián said. "Now here's the plan." Jeanne looked up and gave him her full attention. The plan to rescue her father. "Hopefully the storm'll keep us hidden down here. Bode, you and I will go up the ridge, check things out, figure out the best way to complete the mission."

Jeanne slung her duffel bag over her shoulder. "I'm going with you."

Casián shook his head. "No, we can't risk it. Your father's message...you're the messenger."

Jeanne stared at him. "That's ridiculous. We all got the message. Any of us can be the messenger."

"Blow the reactor, the whole system goes down," Kay said. "That's exactly what you said."

"Get to work fixing the radio!" Casián all but shouted at Kay.

Tension thickened the air, weighing against Jeanne's chest. Kay left the back of the truck without another word. Casián blew out a long breath and then turned back to Jeanne. "All I want to do right now is get a handle on the situation. So Bode and I are going very small and very quiet up that ridge and see what's going on." He left the truck, Bode following a moment later but not before sending Jeanne a look of sympathy.

Her jaw clenched. She needed no sympathy. What she needed was for that stubborn intelligence agent to let her find her father.

Kay re-appeared. "The radio is broken beyond repair."

It didn't matter much to Jeanne. A radio would not rescue her father.

"Does he look like a killer?" Chirutt asked suddenly.

"No," Baz answered. "He has the face of a friend."

Jeanne leaned forward. "Who are you talking about?"

"Andor," Baz answered shortly.

"Why do you ask that?" Suddenly she was finding it difficult to breath. Casián's short temper and insistence that she not come along, his vague references to 'the mission'... "What do you mean, 'does he look like a killer?'"

"I can sense his spirit," said Chirutt with a matter-of-factness that cut short her protests. "It moves darkly, as the spirit of one about to kill."

"His rifle _was_ in sniper configuration," Kay said.

Jeanne bolted from the truck.


	11. TRAGEDY AT EISENBERG

**Author's note: Hey, y'all! I know it's taken me a little longer than normal to post this chapter, but that's because a lot of my writing time has been devoted to my original WIP (also set during WWII!). I was actually going to leave a note at the end of this saying I was taking a break for a while, but The French Waffle left such an awesome, encouraging review that I'm going to keep updating as often as I can. Which probably won't be _that_ often, but still! So thanks for all your encouragement, dear readers. Keep those reviews coming. ;)**

It was only a few moments after Jeanne left that Chirutt also abandoned the shelter of the truck.

"Where are you going?" Baz shouted after him.

"To follow Jeanne," said Chirutt. "Her path is clear."

"By yourself?" Baz called. "Good luck!"

A half-smile played about Chirutt's lips. "I don't need luck. I have you."

/

They crested a ridge that looked down on the research facility and Casián nodded to himself. It was a good vantage point, as long as Galen was outside. He pulled out the night-vision binoculars provided by Y4 and focused on the courtyard down below. Despite the rain, several people stood around, talking or working on the trucks.

He handed the binoculars to Bode. "You see Erso down there?"

Bode took a good, long look – long enough to make Casián think that Galen wasn't there.

"That's him," said Bode suddenly. "That's Galen. In the white coat."

Casián took another look and spotted the man easily. The other men on the platform wore the dull grey work clothes of labourers or the black of SS uniforms. Galen's scientist uniform would make his job easier.

He turned to Bode. "Go back down there and get us a ride, okay?"

Bode looked from Casián to the rifle he held and back. "What are you doing?"

"You heard me. Go."

"You said we came up here just to look."

The suspicion on Bode's face stabbed at his conscience for a moment. "I'm here, I'm looking! Now go. Hurry!"

/

Minutes after Bode left, bright beams of light shot out of the darkness. Casián flattened himself to the ground, trying not to breathe in the wet, sticky mud as the rumble of a car swept past him. He only lifted his head when the sounds of its engine had dissipated into the rain and thunder.

It had been a close call.

/

Jeanne didn't have much of a plan.

She had seen what direction Casián and Bode had gone and knew that following them was pointless. If Casián was truly about to kill her father, he could just as easily murder her if she got in his way. So she went in the opposite direction, down a slick, muddy trail that led to the bright lights of the research facility.

Trees and scrubby brush lined each side of the trail and she grabbed at them for support as she went down. She could feel rocks underneath her feet, through the mud, and the last thing she wanted to do was fall down and badly bruise herself or twist an ankle.

She _would_ reach the research facility and do whatever she had to do to warn her father, to save her father.

/

Kraemer stepped out of the automobile and tried not to flinch as rain lashed his face.

Galen was out in the courtyard, waiting for him, just as he'd requested. He stepped forward and Kraemer searched the face of his old friend for any twitch, any shiftiness that would indicate his betrayal. There was nothing.

"Excellent news, Galen," he said. "The weapon is complete. You must be very proud."

Galen seemed to receive the news impassively. "As proud as I can be, Kraemer."

"There was a time when you would have been devastated, I think," Kraemer said.

"My work is the only thing left for me," said Galen. "If I can't feel pride in it, then I have nothing."

"Yes, well-" He conceded Galen's point with a nod. Then, "Gather your engineers, will you? I have an announcement to make."

/

Casián brushed the rain from his face and cursed the weather.

He had had Galen right there, right in his sights and he hadn't pulled the trigger. The rain was a distraction, yes, but he had taken down targets in worse conditions. He re-calculated the readings and took aim again.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

There was a disturbance in the courtyard.

Galen had darted out from beside the German officer and stood in the middle of a group of white-coated men – his colleagues, Casián guessed. Words were exchanged between Galen and the German officer with Galen stepping forward a little more with each second that passed. Stepping right into the cross-hairs.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

His finger brushed the trigger.

What was he doing?

He'd killed many times for the resistance. There were the traitors, the Nazi officers, the SS thugs whose lives he had ended, but there were also men like Tveit or Damián in '36. Those were the deaths that haunted him. He was sick of killing good men, all in the name of the cause.

Dubois was wrong. Galen Erso was not, and had never been, a traitor. And then there was Jeanne who spoke of her father with fragile hope and who was trusting him to bring Galen out alive.

Casián lowered his rifle.

One time, at least, he could make the honourable choice.

/

Kraemer bit out the word with all the fury welling in his chest.

"Fire!"

Galen's engineers fell in a storm of bullets that surpassed even the force of the rain biting his face. But nothing could equal the anger inside him. He'd trusted Galen, given him every comfort, made sure that his old university friend would be safe. And how had Galen repaid him? With lies, deceit, and betrayal.

He slapped Galen so hard that the traitor fell to the ground.

Kraemer bent down. "How do I know the weapon is complete?" he hissed. "Let me share with you the details."

/

With the rifle propped up beside him in a rocky crevice, Casián dug out his binoculars again and focused them on the facility courtyard. Galen was on the ground. Had he been shot along with the other men?

Movement caught his attention from behind a pile of crates.

He sucked in a sharp breath as he focused on the spot. Jeanne! What on earth was she doing there? She was going to get herself killed.

/

"Jeddah. Saul Garreau. His band of fanatics. All of it gone." As the words left his mouth, even as his anger burned hot within him, Kraemer couldn't repress a shiver of pride.

Galen shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "You'll never win."

Kraemer smiled, though a twinge of irritation went through him. "Now where have I heard that before?"

/

Jeanne clutched the rifle to her. She'd knocked out a guard, using moves Saul had taught her years ago, and taken the weapon though she wasn't sure what she'd do with it.

The rain continued to pour. Did it ever stop raining in this place?

She was perhaps thirty yards from the men outside the facility and she watched as the one on the ground stood up, slowly and – it appeared – painfully. He brushed some mud off his clothes and said something to the German officer who'd slapped him. And then he turned half around and Jeanne saw his face.

The face that visited her nightmares – though he was never frightening himself – and filled her wistful thoughts.

"Father!" she screamed.

And the first bomb fell.

/

"Jeanne..." Casián muttered. "No."

He had to trust that Bode had found some sort of transportation and had rendezvoused with the others because he was going down there to get Galen. And Jeanne. He scooped up his rifle and made his way to the main road that led directly to the facility.

/

She was so close to Father. So close she could have spoken his name and he would have heard if it had not been for the bombs falling all around them. Didn't the idiots back at Y4 communicate with their allies? Didn't the Brits know that there was a mission planned for tonight?

She took a step closer. Father was right there.

Until suddenly the earth and the sky were the same shatteringly bright colour and she was flung onto her back, rain seeping through her clothes.

 _No, no, must get to him. I must-_

Dimly, she heard several people shouting, including one worried man who kept telling someone that they needed to leave, needed to get away before they were killed. Apparently whoever he'd been talking to listened, for she couldn't hear his voice anymore. She lay on her back, dazed, and wondered if she had any broken bones.

She waited until the courtyard became quite quiet before moving.

No more shouts. No more talking. No more bombs.

There was only the quiet crackling of fires started by the bombs, brave little fires that continued to burn even through the driving rain.

Feeling leached back into her limbs where before there had only been numbness. She got to her feet, slowly, fumblingly, and forced her eyes to focus.

Where was he?

Her eyes searched across the great, rain-spattered expanse of the facility's courtyard.

There.

Lying right where she had last seen him. Limp and quiet against the cement. She scrambled to her feet and ran toward him as fast as her shaking legs would carry her. "Father!"

She knelt down, right at his side, her eyes tracing every last line and crevice of his face.

He was older, much older than what her memory-laden mind had told her for so long but he was her father and now that she was here, with him, they would not be separated.

"Papa...papa..." The words came out as gasps as she touched his face, brushed the rain-soaked hair away from his forehead. Without even realizing it, she called him 'papa' again. The name she had called him as a little girl, wrapped up in the bliss of their country life.

Only, when she tore her gaze from his face for a moment, she saw the wound in his stomach. Blood and rain mixed and spilled onto the cement.

His eyes flickered open. "Jeanne," he murmured. "Stardust..."

"I'm here," she said, holding back the lump in her throat so she could make herself understood. "I got your message. I read the letter."

"It must be destroyed," he said, gasping for air.

"I know. We will. _I_ will."

His eyes focused on hers. "Jeanne. I have so much to tell you." His hand lifted, straining to touch her cheek, to offer comfort as he had done so many times when she was a child. But before he could reach her, his hand fell limp.

Jeanne screamed.


	12. CONFESSION AND ATTRITION

**Author's note: Bit of a longer chapter this time, but y'all deserve it for sticking with me through my sloooow updating of this story. :) I debated whether or not to include a version of Darth Vader in this story because I figured it would work without him and I wasn't sure how to present a version of the character without it being silly. But thanks to some advice from a friend, I did decide to include him and I'm rather glad I did because I LOVED WRITING HIM SO MUCH. Please let me know what you think of my take on the iconic character!**

Bode had found the vehicle compound with little trouble. Oddly enough, there had been no guards in the compound. But he had heard gunshots and then the piercing scream of an air raid siren, which had to account for the lack of security.

It had taken him moments to leap into one of the larger trucks and drive it away from the facility and toward where Kay and Erso's daughter and the two monks waited.

But when he got to the mangled truck, only Kay was there.

"Where are the others?" he asked after Kay joined him in the cab.

"They all decided to go exploring." Kay sounded annoyed and Bode felt a familiar tension in his gut. How would they find the others in the pouring rain and chaos of an air raid? He felt a responsibility to all of them. He needed to prove that he was trustworthy, that he really was on the Allies' side.

"Any trouble procuring this truck?" said Kay.

Bode shook his head. "They-the guards were too busy at the facility."

"Well, good job," said Kay. "You're one of us now. Go into that patch of forest by the main road," he added. "They should come this way, if they come at all."

/

One of the guards took a shot at Casián just as he came in sight of Jeanne, but he shot through the soldier and didn't break his stride. Jeanne was crumpled on the ground, much as she had been when he found her in Saul's quarters. Galen Erso lay on the wet ground.

Dead.

Casián cursed under his breath.

Jeanne clung to her father's body like a drowning woman. "Papa, don't go. Please, please-"

Her words rushed together, garbled and filled with tears.

He gripped her shoulder. "Come on, Jeanne, we've got to go. Come on!" He felt for her loss, but if they were to make it out of here alive they had to go now. And he was pretty sure that Galen wouldn't have wanted Jeanne to sacrifice her life so senselessly.

Jeanne jerked her shoulder away. "I won't leave him. I won't."

"Listen to me." Casián looked her in the eye. "He's gone. There's nothing you can do."

She turned away from him and his words, so he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her away from Galen. There would be time for grief later, but not now. The rain was letting up and it wouldn't be long before more soldiers were on them.

"Halt!" a voice shouted.

Casián half-turned to see a dozen guards jogging toward them. They had no chance.

A smattering of bullets exploded through the air and took down half of soldiers. He yanked Jeanne down beside him but a moment later they were up and running because it was best to take this opportunity while they had it.

Now where was Bode with that transportation?

Headlights flashed to life ahead, in the dark shadows of some trees he'd passed earlier. It had to be Bode.

Movement to the left startled him and he glanced over to see Malbusse and Chirutt running toward them. Had everyone left the truck? Casián shook his head, but caught Malbusse's eye and pointed ahead to the waiting vehicle.

Jeanne was still beside him. Her survival instinct had kept her going this far. Just a few more yards.

More gunshots! Would it never end?

Germans shouts joined the shots and Casián doubled his pace.

"Get down!" a very British voice shouted from the general direction of the headlights.

Casián hit the ground. He could only hope the others had reacted in time as a scythe of machine gun fire barked over his head.

/

Inside the truck, the numbness that had clouded Jeanne's mind as Casián ran her to safety began to clear away. It was replaced by a clear flame of anger. She didn't have time to grieve, to collapse onto the truck bottom like she wanted to do, so anger filled the void in her heart.

Her fist clenched as she turned to look at Casián.

But then she started as a firm hand gripped her arm. She turned. It was Chirutt. Anyone else and she would have whirled around and jabbed their throat with all the force she could muster, but Chirutt's touch was soothing and warning at the same time. Warning her to not explode at Casián.

Well then, she wouldn't. But she'd confront him all the same.

"You lied to me."

Casián paused in re-loading his revolver. "You're in shock."

"You went up there to kill my father." Her tone was cold and hard as ice.

He shook his head and went back to his weapon. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Anger burned in her chest. If she had ever been certain of anything in her life, it was that Casián had come here to kill her father – not rescue him. "Deny it, then."

"You're in shock," he repeated, standing up with a hand against the wall of the truck for balance. "You're angry and looking for somewhere to put it. I've seen it before."

"I bet you have." She could feel the eyes of Chirutt and Baz on her. "They know!" she said, gesturing to the two monks. "You lied about your mission and you lied about why you wanted to go alone."

Casián stared at her for a long moment before he answered. "I had every chance to pull the trigger. But did I?"

She scoffed. "You might as well have. My father was vital, living proof of the Death-bringer and you put him at risk. Those were Allied bombs that killed him!"

"I had orders. Orders that _I_ disobeyed! But you wouldn't understand that." The angrier Casián got, the thicker his Spanish accent became. Jeanne half-expected him to switch to his native language in the heat of the moment.

"Orders?" she said. "When you know they're wrong? You might as well be one of _them_." She gestured to the bold swastika emblazoned on the canvas protecting them from the rain.

Casián stared. "What do you know about any of this?" he threw at her. "Some of us don't have the luxury of deciding when and where we want to care about this war. Suddenly, it's personal to you. But I've been fighting since I was twelve."

Jeanne wanted to say that she had been in the fight since she was sixteen, but the flash of pain in Casián's eyes made her bite her tongue. Whatever he had gone through...it was more than equal to her own grief. She didn't want to compare her scars to his.

"You're not the only one who lost everything," he said softly. "Some of us just decided to do something about it."

She remembered her father then and her compassion fled.

"You can't talk your way out of this," she said.

He leaned closer. "I don't have to."

/

Kraemer repressed a shiver as he was led through endless corridors by a young corporal. He had been summoned by Hitler – he thought – after requesting a meeting to discuss von Talkin's take-over of the weapon. But he knew Hitler to be at Berchtesgaden. And this was not it.

"Why am I here?" he asked.

The corporal made no response, only continued his swift pace.

Kraemer ground his teeth in frustration.

At last the corporal paused in front of a large iron door at the end of the hall. He pushed open the door with effort and motioned for Kraemer to enter. Kraemer did so, not without trepidation. He was beginning to suspect what he would find inside.

The door closed behind him, the corporal outside.

Kraemer looked around. There were no lights on in the room and it would have been pitch dark if not for the enormous fireplace at the opposite end, casting garish, glowing shadows on Kraemer and the walls and floor. The room was small and the fireplace made it stuffy and close.

A noise. Something stirred in the shadows.

Kraemer held his breath.

That sound...

He was not mistaken. Someone was breathing, breathing so loud he could hear them even over the crackling of the fire.

A tall, broad figure emerged from the shadows the farthest corner of the room. The figure was dressed in all black, so dark that he appeared to be made of shadows himself. The cloak fluttering behind him lent credibility to the thought. And his raspy, almost asthmatic breathing told Kraemer all he needed to know.

Lieutenant Vader.

He resisted the urge to back away as Vader advanced on him. Though the man had the rank of lieutenant, he had more power than most of the generals in Hitler's command. He was a skilled torturer and, from all Kraemer had heard, the only man Hitler truly trusted because of the bond between them. Hitler and Vader had fought together in the Great War and Hitler had saved Vader's life after pulling him from a burning tank.

The smoke had gotten into Vader's lungs and the fire had burned much of his body, but Hitler saw potential in the man he had rescued. He knew that Vader would be most loyal to the man who'd saved him from death. After his rise to power, Hitler had sought out Vader and given him unimaginable power; in return, Vader was his loyal weapon against those who sought to undermine the Reich and its leader.

"Major Kraemer," said Vader. His face was masked in black cloth from neck to forehead at all times. Apparently, the burn scars were unsightly.

Kraemer saluted stiffly, though Vader had not shown him such courtesy. "Lieutenant Vader."

"You seem...unsettled."

Kraemer shook his head, and tried to force his mouth into an unconcerned smile. "Just pressed for time. There are many things to attend to."

"My apologies." Kraemer thought he detected a hint of sarcasm. "But you do have a great many things to explain."

Indignation surged through him. Curse von Talkin! "I delivered the weapon the Fuhrer requested. I request an audience with him so that he may understand the weapon's full potential." His voice rose. The urgency of this request could not be underestimated. Hitler must understand, must back _him_ up. Not von Talkin...

Vader remained impassive. "Its ability to create problems has certainly been confirmed," he said dryly. "An entire city destroyed. A Reich facility attacked openly."

"It was Colonel von Talkin that suggested the test," said Kraemer. "I would not have-"

Vader lifted a gloved hand, his black cloak swishing as he did so. "You were not summoned here to grovel, Major Kraemer."

"I assure you-"

"There is no weapon." Vader stepped closer. "The Fuhrer's generals have been informed that an Allied raid was carried out on Jeddah."

Kraemer bowed his head. "Yes, Lieutenant Vader."

"I expect you not to rest until you can assure the Fuhrer that Galen Erso has not compromised the weapon in any way." He walked past Kraemer toward the door. The meeting was over but Kraemer still had questions. How far did he dare go?

"So I'm still in command of the project?" he said, striving to sound casual. "You'll speak to the Fuhrer about-"

With a suddenness that terrified Kraemer, Lieutenant Vader spun around and slammed him against the wall, gripping him around the throat. He was much taller than Kraemer, much stronger, and Kraemer swore he could feel his windpipe being crushed as Vader choked him, one-handed.

The man-the man wasn't...human...

Black spots swam in Kraemer's vision. He was going to die. He was going to-

Vader released him as suddenly as he had attacked. Kraemer slumped to the floor, gasping for breath.

"Be careful not to choke on your aspirations, Major," Vader said and left the room.


	13. BOLDLY GO

**Author's note: a new chapter! Thanks for all your patience - life has been crazy busy, as usual, but I am going to try to post new chapters a little more frequently from now on. We're getting pretty close to the end, aren't we? I'm pretty nervous about trying to do justice to the Scarif sequence, but hopefully it'll work out. *fingers crossed* (Also, I know the title of this chapter is from Star Trek, kind of, but I needed a good title and I thought it worked rather well.)**

They sat together on a long, low bench, awaiting an audience with Y4's council.

Jeanne swallowed the unshed tears clogged in her throat. It was imperative that she not give into them until she made her case to the council.

Casián sat beside her. He was waiting for Kay, who'd been called before the council; Jeanne didn't know why and there was still enough tension between her and Casián to make questions awkward.

She glanced over at Bode. He sat a few feet down the bench, head in his hands. It looked as though he were deep in thought.

For herself, she was tired of thinking, always thinking and questioning and never doing anything. If there was ever a time for action, it was now. And so words spilled out of her mouth without her permission.

"How much longer, do you think?"

The question was a peace offering of sorts. She'd had time to think on the journey back to Y4 and as much as she wanted to blame Casián for what had happened, she couldn't. It wasn't his fault.

He turned to look at her, one eyebrow quirked.

Her face flushed. He might as well have said, _"You've decided to speak to me again?"_.

But he didn't say that. " It shouldn't take too long. It's only a reprimand."

"A reprimand?"

Casián studied his hands as if deciding how much to share with her. "Kay didn't have permission to go with us. He disobeyed orders."

"But he still went."

Casián nodded. "It was...important to him."

Questions itched to be asked, but from the way Casián looked away, it was clear that he had given her all he would. Right now anyway.

The council room door yawned open and Kay marched out.

He held his head high but there was a bleakness in his eyes that Jeanne knew too well. He'd lost someone. She'd seen the same expression staring her back in the face whenever she looked in a mirror.

"We're going, yes?" Casián said, standing up.

Kay nodded and kept walking. Casián followed after a moment's hesitation.

So this was the last she'd see of either of them.

"Goodbye," Jeanne called after them.

For a moment, Casián stopped and stood still, his back to her.

He turned his head a fraction. "Goodbye, Jeanne Erso."

Behind her, she heard the door swing open and a voice - Dubois'? - called for her to come and present her findings to the council. But for one long moment, all she could do was watch as Casián left.

Left _her_.

/

He couldn't get the tough, tired expression on Jeanne Erso's face out of his mind. She was wounded and had to face the council alone. There would be a lot of noise and posturing, but in the end nothing would be done.

Skaref was heavily defended. The only thing that could bring it to its knees would be a full-scale attack and they would never unanimously agree to call for such action.

Casián stopped.

An Allied raid was one option. But there was another. More risky, yes, but worth the risk if the Death-bringer existed - and he was sure now that it did.

Surely there were others that felt as he did. He would seek them out.

After all, what did they have to lose? What did _he_ have to lose?

The image of a young woman with smudged, tired eyes and a chin lifted against the world flickered through his mind.

/

"Perhaps if we contact the Allies now, it's not too late to negotiate a surrender."

"But how can we surrender now after fighting for so long?"

"We can't just give in!"

"We joined an alliance with the Brits and the Americans, not a suicide agreement."

"A decision needs to be made."

"Well, if it's more war you want, you'll fight alone!"

The talk buzzed around her, round and round until Jeanne felt like vomiting. She had presented news of weapon - and the plans at Skaref - in as a clear and succinct a manner as possible. Bode corroborated her story and added his own observations of the attack on Jeddah.

Once the last words left their lips an eerie silence fell.

For perhaps half a second.

And then it had been nothing but talk, talk, talk in endless circles with everyone accusing each other of either cowardice or foolhardiness and nothing actually being decided. It hurt her brain. The answer to the problem was so clear, so obvious. Why could they not see it?

She didn't blame Bode for taking a step back and not saying a word. He probably understood next to nothing of the French flying in every direction and had to be as exhausted as she was.

But it still felt as though she stood alone.

A sentence penetrated the haze. "A Death-bringer? This is nonsense!"

Her gaze latched onto the speaker's face. It was thin and bearded and, what was more, fearful. He doubted his own words even as he brashly spoke them.

"What reason would my father have to lie?" Jeanne said. She directed her words and her eyes to the man who'd spoken and him alone. The room quieted.

"To lure the Allies and us into a greater battle and greater destruction of our forces than has yet been seen." It was Dubois who spoke now. Jeanne's fists clenched and unclenched. He was the one who'd spoken with Casián right before they left for Jeddah. He could be the one who'd ordered Casián to kill her father.

"We're to risk everything on what?" said a third man. He was lean and darker skinned than most of the others. "The word of a convicted criminal? The testimony of a dying man, a scientist working for the Reich?"

"Don't forget the Nazi pilot," the thin-faced man spat.

Behind her, Bode sucked in a sharp breath.

Anger constricted Jeanne's chest, making it hard to breathe, much less speak. But she had to. "My father gave his _life_ so that you could have a chance to defeat this."

"So you've told us," an elderly man said, his hair and beard pure white.

"If the Nazis have this kind of power," said a dusky-skinned woman, "what chance do we have?"

Jeanne took one step closer to the table they all stood around. "What chance? The question is 'what choice?'. Run. Hide. Surrender. Plead for mercy. Scatter your forces." She shook her head. Everything she had thought on the way back to Y4 came boiling up now. "You give way to an enemy so evil with so much power and you doom the world to an eternity of submission and sorrow. The time to fight is now!"

She heard Bode mutter "Yes!" behind her and forged on.

"Every moment you waste in another step closer to the ashes of Jeddah. And they _will_ catch up to us if you do nothing," she said.

"What are you proposing?" someone further back in the crowd asked.

"Shh!" came another voice. "Let the girl speak!"

She took a deep breath. "Send the best troops to Skaref. Send everyone if that's what it takes. We need to capture the plans for the weapon if there's any chance of destroying it." Her heart thudded now, but from excitement and purpose. Not anger.

"You're asking us to invade one of the Nazis' most heavily guarded installations based on nothing but hope," the dusky-skinned woman said flatly.

 _Hope_. The word teased a memory in Jeanne's mind.

"Rebellions are built on hope," she said and meant it.

Finally, she understood how Casián and so many others had felt all those years, fighting the Nazis. All those years when she had sat back and kept her head down, trying to eke out a bare existence that was barely survival and certainly not living, not really.

They would do anything to bring an end to this reign of terror. And now so would she.

The council devolved into shouts, questions, arguments between groups of people and individuals. But Jeanne paid them no heed. She didn't have time to waste.

There was a world resting on her shoulders and if she was the only one leaving for Skaref, then so be it.

/

Dismissed from the council meeting after it became clear that their presence was causing more harm than good, Jeanne and Bode almost walked past Baz and Chirutt before Jeanne saw them. They stood at the entrance to the cave that provided one of the exits out of Y4.

It almost seemed as though they'd been waiting for her.

"You don't look happy," said Baz, pushing himself off the cement wall.

Jeanne slowed and then stopped, Bode a few steps away. A lonely shadow.

"They prefer to surrender," she said.

"And you?" said Baz.

Chirutt smiled as he folded his hands on his staff. "She wants to fight."

"So do I," said Bode. "We all do."

"Well, I'm not sure four of us will be enough," Jeanne said.

A grin spread over Baz's face. "How many do we need?" He looked at something beyond her and when Jeanne turned to look too, there was Casián. He stood half-in, half-out of the cave's shadows. Behind him were close to forty men, inky ghosts.

Casián walked to where she stood. "They were never going to believe you."

Some of the old, familiar anger flamed back for a moment. "Thanks for the support."

"But I do," he said. "I believe you." He half-turned and waved a hand at the assembled men behind him. "I'd-we'd like to volunteer. Some of us...most of us have done terrible things for the Resistance. We're spies. Saboteurs. Assassins.

"Everything I did, I did for the Resistance. And every time I walked away from something I wanted to forget I told myself it was for a cause that I believed in. A cause that was worth it." He looked at her, at Bode, at Baz and Chirutt. "Without that, without the cause, we're lost. Everything we've done would have been for nothing." He shook his head. "I couldn't face myself if I gave up now. None of us could."

There was silence for a long moment as everyone - and Jeanne especially - digested everything Casián had said. Every haunting memory, every impossible decision that his words had brought to mind.

"It won't be comfortable," Bode said suddenly. "It would be cramped but we could all fit."

Everyone stared at him.

"The troop carrier I stole from the Eisenberg facility," he explained. "It could get us in."

"Okay," Casián said. He turned to his men. "Gear up. Grab anything you can that isn't nailed down. Go, go, go!"

The men he'd gathered took off runnng. Jeanne wasn't sure about the layout of Y4, but it looked like they were headed toward the supply room.

Movement came from her left and she turned to see Kay standing there.

Words flitted through her mind.

"I'm going with you," he said bluntly.

"Thank you," she said, unthinking. It sounded so entitled. Like she expected his help.

"I'm not going for you, Jeanne Erso."

A sharp retort hovered on her tongue and would have flown out if she hadn't spied the faintest twitch of his lips. He wasn't being entirely serious and even if he was, she didn't want anyone coming for her.

She could be killed. But what she stood for, what they all stood for...

That could never be destroyed.

Kay brushed past her and headed into the cave's depths. Apparently, he was already prepared to storm Skaref. That didn't really surprise her.

Casián walked over and handed her a canteen and a walkie-talkie. She clipped both items to her belt and let out a deep breath.

"Nervous?" said Casián, cocking his head to see her face better.

She fumbled with the canteen for a moment but finally met his eyes. "No. I'm just not used to people sticking around when things go bad."

Casián smiled. "Welcome home."


	14. ADVANCE ON SKAREF

As they crested the hill and Bode saw Skaref, a quiver of fear trembled inside him. He'd come here often enough with cargo to unload, but now he was entering as a traitor to the Reich, driving a truckload of even more traitors.

A sprawling facility nestled deep inside Germany - it had taken all of his wits to get them through the various checkpoints - Skaref was part retreat, part military monster. The grounds around the military installation went on for several acres of both manicured lawn and forest. Ringing the whole of Skaref was a perimeter wall with a thick steel gate that provided the only entrance and exit.

The guards at the gate should let them through. He'd made deliveries before and this truck was unmistakably Reich property. Just as long as they hadn't marked it as overdue. Or stolen.

The gate loomed ahead.

Bode took a deep breath.

/

They'd stopped.

Jeanne tensed and gripped the seat under her until her fingers hurt. Casián sat beside her, a steady presence, but she thought he stiffened as well.

All that came to her ears were muffled German words and the truck's engine idling.

And then the truck lurched forward. All the breath _whooshed_ out of Jeanne's lungs in relief. They'd made it through.

After two or three moments Bode called back through the truck's canvas, "Five minutes!"

Instantly, the atmosphere inside the truck was electric. Nothing changed visibly. There was a little more shifting and looks were exchanged. But everyone tensed with anxious nervousness and Jeanne felt it. She looked around. She knew none of these men, none of these women. Yet they were still willing to follow her for their cause and perhaps even die.

Probably die, if she was being honest with herself.

She doubted many of them would make it through this day, which was why she couldn't let them all go their separate ways without a word, without an indication that they, all of them, mattered to the cause. To each other. To her.

She stood and gripped the truck's frame work above her head.

"Saul Garreau-" Her voice faltered, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Saul Garreau said that one fighter with a sharp stick and nothing to lose can win the day. They have no idea we're coming; they have no reason to expect us. If we make it off this truck, we'll take the next chance. And the next. And on and on until we win...or all our chances are spent." She took a deep breath. "The plans are down there. You all know what will happen if we don't capture them."

There were nods, exchanged glances, muttered words.

Casián stood now. "Malbusse, Chirutt, take the main squad and scatter through the grounds. Once you get to the best spot, light it up. Make ten men feel like a hundred."

"All right," said Baz. There was a kind of grim excitement on his face. Jeanne shared it.

The truck slowed and then stopped. Jeanne held her breath and she was sure the others were doing the same as footsteps approached the truck.

The canvas flap at the back was flung back and two German privates stared in stark surprise at the group inside the truck.

In less time than it took Jeanne to recognize the threat, Baz - closest to the opening - had jumped out and cracked the soldiers' heads together. Everyone else spilled from the truck then. Jeanne and Casián took off their outer clothes and donned the privates' uniforms. The clothes were much too big on Jeanne, but she shoved the sleeves up a little and made do. At least the bulkiness would help hide the fact that she was a woman.

Casián handed her a helmet and she bunched her hair up underneath before slipping the strap under her chin. There. Not the best disguise but far better than nothing.

Bode came around the side of the truck. "What do I do?" he asked Casián.

"Stay here and keep the engine running," Casián said. "You're our only ride out of here."

As the men jogged past her and melted into the woods and shrubbery, someone touched her arm. She looked up and saw Baz.

"Good luck, little sister."

Her throat tightened. This was, perhaps, the last time she would see him. She nodded, finding it too painful to speak words. But he would understand all that she meant and could never say. If they saw each other again, she would thank him for sticking with her through all of this. But for now, a nod and an unspoken promise to meet again were all she could manage.

Chirutt was right behind him and almost without knowing what she was doing, she slipped the Saint Lucia medallion from around her neck and pressed it into his hand.

"You asked me about this back in Jeddah," she said. "You should have it."

He smiled widely, his gaze focused an inch or two past her. "Thank you, Jeanne."

It was what had brought them together in the first place, what had saved her and Casián's life later on. But she didn't have to say any of that. Chirutt knew.

And then he and Baz were gone into the darker shadows like the rest of the rebels.

She watched them go and then turned back to Casián. Kay was there as well. In his officer's uniform, he'd be an excellent escort and hopefully get them through any challenges by pulling rank.

Jeanne squared her shoulders and fell into step beside Casián as they advanced toward the Skaref facility. Kay muttered something under his breath darkly but other than that there was silence.

Jeanne's heartbeat fluttered.

No turning back now.


	15. STARDUST

A flutter of apprehension heightened the nervousness Roemer normally felt when receiving such an important visitor as Major Kraemer. Someone of Kraemer's standing with the Fuhrer would not visit this dull outpost unless something was terribly wrong.

And since it was Roemer's job to make sure that nothing went wrong, ever, he was understandably concerned.

"What brings you to Skaref, Major?" Roemer asked as Kraemer stalked into his office.

"Galen Erso," Kraemer all but spat out. "I want every letter, every dispatch, every telegram he has sent or received called up for inspection."

"All of them? That will take some-"

"Yes, all of them!" Kraemer shouted. "Go!"

And Roemer scurried off to do the major's bidding.

/

"Where do we go from here, Kay?"

Kay could hear the beginnings of panic in Casián's voice. He understood the emotion - Skaref was a large facility and there wasn't exactly a tourist guide at the front desk - but he did not share it.

"Maybe we should _ask_ one of the guards," said Casián.

"I agree," said Jeanne. Kay winced. Her voice was unmistakably female and many more words out of her would blow the whole operation.

He shook his head. "Keep your voice down. Better still, don't talk at all." Before Jeanne could fly at him, he added, "There is no need to attempt anything violent."

 _Yet._

By necessity, talking had to be kept at a minimum so he did not explain his plan to Jeanne and Casián. But when he spotted their mark, he pivoted to follow the private carrying a stack of files. He knew Casián had picked up on the plan simply because Casián always did. And it wouldn't take Jeanne long either.

Which was good. He hated to talk unnecessarily and it was refreshing to have two such intelligent agents to work with. Stupidity bred death.

They followed the private through several corridors until the soldier turned a corner and Kay heard him speaking with someone about the files he carried. Something about going on leave soon and could the person he was speaking to file the papers for him? The answer was 'no'.

He nodded to Casián, who unclipped his handheld receiver and spoke into it.

"Melshi, you there? Melshi?"

A faint crackle of static, and then a whispered, "Ready and waiting".

Casián did not hesitate before he said, "Light it up."

/

Kraemer paced in Roemer's office. What was taking the man so long? The first dispatches should have already arrived.

He paused in his pacing and went to the window. There had been a quick, almost furtive movement outside that bore further inspection. He scanned the area outside the large window, seeing nothing of the cultivated beauty of Skaref's grounds, but instead marking the places where an enemy could conceal himself.

An explosion of light and sound shattered the window.

The force of it threw Kraemer to the office's polished floor but he scrambled to his feet quickly and turned to meet the guards that raced into the room. They stared at the broken glass and the blood he could feel trickling down his forehead.

"Are you blind?" he shouted at them. "Deploy the garrison! Move!"

/

The officer sitting at the desk beside the elevator door looked up.

"Can I help you?" he said, looking Kay up and down with a sniff that made Kay remember just how rumpled and filthy his uniform was.

"That won't be necessary," he said, stepping closer to the desk. He broke the officer's neck with a quick twist of his arm. The man slumped to the floor, light draining from his eyes. If he had left the man merely unconscious, he could have woken and caused several problems but Kay still felt a twinge of pain behind the logic.

If she had seen him just then...

He shook away the thought.

"Take the elevator to the bottom," said Kay after consulting a thick binder that held records for every file. "The most valuable papers are there."

"And you?" asked Jeanne.

It surprised him for a moment, that she had asked. "I will be up here, covering your tracks."

"Oh." She nodded and turned to the elevator but came back at the last moment. "Good luck, Kay." She held his gaze clearly and he saw no hint of the animosity that had existed between them a moment ago. Perhaps the fact that they could all be very dead in a very short amount of time...perhaps that was it.

Whatever it was, he found a smile tugging at his face. "As always, Miss Erso, your behaviour is surprising. I hope you find what we're all looking for."

Casián and he shook hands. "Thank you for everything."

He nodded. There was nothing to say after that, but then, he'd always preferred silence.

Jeanne and Casián stepped onto the elevator and the doors closed and they disappeared from view. Kay sat down at the desk and flipped through the binder. He had work to do.

/

Inside the elevator, there was silence until static crackled from Casián's walkie and he grabbed it from his belt.

"Hello? Yes?"

"Andor, they've closed the gate." Jeanne recognized Bode's voice. "They've got it heavily guarded. Tanks even. There's no way we can get out."

Casián swore and Jeanne winced.

"Does that mean-?" she started, but Bode's words scrambled over hers.

"There's still a chance," he said. "If you can find a fax machine - and they should have one - you can send the plans straight to Allied Headquarters. It's the only way."

The elevator stopped and the door opened as Casián said, "We'll find it. Just make sure they know it's coming, okay?"

"Understood," said Bode and signed off.

Jeanne sucked in a breath as she and Casián stepped off the elevator and into the bowels of Skaref. Dim lights, drained of their brightness by over-use, cast a feeble glow over what looked like kilometres of file cabinets. They stretched before Jeanne into the far reaches that the lights couldn't penetrate.

How would they ever find her father's plans in all this?

Casián spoke into his walkie. "Kay, where do we start looking?"

"Working on it," Kay said, his crisp voice cutting through the static. "Try Structural Engineering. Left side, last three rows."

She took off running with Casián right beside her, wishing they'd brought at least one torch.

"I'll take this row, you take the next one down," Jeanne said when they reached the right section.

Casián nodded.

"I have the list of project names in front of me," said Kay. "I'll read them out, see if something jogs your memory, Jeanne."

"All right." She nodded at Casián and as Kay began to read the names, she flipped through the scads of file folders.

"Black Saber, Lightning Strike, Wintergreen..."

Between searching the files in front of her, keeping one ear open for any unwanted interruptions, and processing what Kay was saying, she almost missed it. But her mind caught hold of the one word and her search stuttered to a halt.

"Say that last one again," she said.

Kay paused. "Stardust."

She gripped the open file cabinet drawer. "That's it."

"Are you sure?" Casián said. "You can't make a mistake about this. How do you know?"

"I know it," she said, "because it's me."


	16. FADED FAITH

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, lovelies! I'm SO sorry for not updating sooner but I have a new freelance writing job which takes up a good amount of my writing time and then there's been NaNoWriMo as well. But I want to update more faithfully - I'm getting so, so close to the end - and hopefully this latest installment is a sign of more regularity in my posts. :) Thank you SO much for sticking with this story (especially TheFrenchWaffle). This chapter is a hugely sad one and I hope it doesn't disappoint y'all. /3**

 _30 minutes earlier_

Melshi nodded at Baz. "It's a go."

Baz flicked the switch on the explosives and he, Melshi, and Chirutt ran in a mad dash back the way they'd come. Though they put good distance between themselves and the blast the force of it still rattled Baz's teeth. Chirutt stumbled and he reached out and gripped his friend's arm to steady him.

Multiple explosions shook the ground, each a little farther away. A satisfied grin spread over Baz's face as he thought of the confusion and alarm that was surely gripping the Nazis at this moment.

/

Casián had left three men with Bode to guard the truck but Bode wished that he hadn't. The truck, with the swastikas prominent on all sides was in hardly any danger. Even he was in little danger with his Wermacht uniform. But the three men, roughly dressed and with scowls etched on their faces, were a security risk if an inquisitive soldier looked inside.

And they didn't trust him at all.

In some part of his mind, he understood the distrust. He was wearing the enemy uniform after all. But another part of him was frustrated and even a little angry. He had risked much to defect to the Allies. He hadn't had a moment's rest or peace since he turned and they were still treating him as though he'd shoot them in the back at any moment.

It might have helped had he changed out of his old uniform, but he hadn't had time. And even if he had, he didn't think he would have. There was something about the uniform, something that helped him remember how far he'd come and why he was fighting.

"Look," he said suddenly. "I know I look like the enemy. Until a few weeks ago I was your enemy. But this-" He grabbed a fistful of uniform and yanked at it. "This isn't me. Not anymore."

There were some mutters, some raised eyebrows. No one looked him in the eye.

They would never believe him. But at least he couldn't go on without at least trying to change their minds.

/

Baz hid behind some bushes with Chirutt and Melshi, watching the spectacle. Whenever a Nazi soldier or two came running to investigate the explosion or search for the saboteurs, Baz dropped them with a scythe of machine gun fire.

So far, things were going well outside. He could only hope that Jeanne and Andor were having the same level of success inside Skaref.

He could only hope, yes. He had not prayed in...he did not know how long.

But, yes, he did know. It was when Margot and his nieces and nephew had been killed in an air strike. The Allies. He didn't blame them; they had not known that his sister and the children were fleeing Paris at the time and had been travelling very close to an important Nazi installation.

No, he blamed God. God could have guarded Margot and little Marie and Henri and Jacqueline from the bombs. But He had not. And so Baz had no time or care for God.

Chirutt knew his thoughts in that regard, though he'd never said much about that day. But Chirutt seemed to know everything.

Even now, as if he had heard Baz's thoughts, Chirutt stiffened.

"There is something..." he muttered. "Something is coming."

Baz's head whipped back and forth, looking, searching. Chirutt was never wrong.

There was a patch of trees ahead of them and as he stared, a darker shadow pushed through the thin forest.

"Tank!" he shouted, his voice hoarse with sudden fear. "It's a tank!"

And then he was running madly with the others as they fled from the metal monstrosity. He dared a look over his shoulder and saw the tank joined by a second one. Shells whistled over his head. Beside him, Melshi cried out and fell to the ground but Baz knew they couldn't stop for him.

He knew, too, that Chirutt wanted to go back for the fallen man but it wasn't possible. The tanks were almost upon them.

But where was Chirutt?

Baz stumbled a stop in the middle of his dash from the tanks and whirled around to see Chirutt a dozen metres away, walking toward Melshi.

Baz's eyes widened. "Chirutt! Chirutt!" He could not do this. It was madness.

The tanks were perhaps a hundred metres from Chirutt and closing in. One shell, two shells exploded on Chirutt's left side, but he didn't flinch. Baz crouched behind a tree that would be no defense against the shelling and watched as Chirutt stepped surefooted among craters and twisted roots.

Baz's gaze shot ahead to where Melshi lay on the frozen ground. One of his legs was blown off at the knee. He moaned in the dirt and blood and Baz's chest tightened. That could be Chirutt...or worse. He cursed himself for not going out there, for not being by his friend's side as he braved the impossible to rescue someone neither of them really knew.

But suddenly he was afraid to die. He knew he couldn't go out there. His soul was not right inside and he feared death.

So all he could do was watch as Chirutt reached Melshi and bent down and helped him to stand with one leg, his arm slung over Chirutt's shoulder.

He found himself praying now, praying that Chirutt would make it back safely and well.

He would have given them covering fire, but his machine gun was less than useless against the tanks' armour. Still, he fired a few bursts over Chirutt's head. Maybe it would slow the tanks' advance.

Baz reached out and took Melshi from Chirutt.

What he had planned to say about foolish risks was drowned out as another shell screamed in his ears, sounding different this time. There was an explosion and a sound of wood groaning, cracking. Chirutt shoved Baz away as the tree they hid behind plummeted to the ground.

There was a sickening thud to the back of Baz's head and all went black.

/

When the dust cleared and the ringing in his ears stopped, Baz opened his eyes to a new world. The tanks were gone. So was the cluster of trees he had hid in. Everything was smoke and dust and the sound of Melshi's moaning.

Chirutt! Where-?

Baz scrambled to his feet. "Chirutt!" he shouted, not caring if anyone heard him now. "Chirutt!"

Someone coughed. It was away, on the edge of the shell crater and Baz climbed over fallen tree trunks until he reached the place where the cough had come from. There Chirutt was, pinned under the tree they'd hid behind.

The tree, Baz realized, that would have fallen on him had Chirutt not pushed him away.

He blinked away the moisture that threatened to spill down his cheeks. "Chirutt, you fool..."

He had always been the strongest of the warrior monks. The tallest, the strongest, the one who was always called upon to lift the heaviest loads. But now, straining at the fallen tree, he couldn't budge it. Guilt turned him soft.

"Baz."

Baz turned from the tree to his friend. His oldest friend. The one who had stayed by his side even when he'd lost his faith. "I can't lift it," he said. It hurt him to say those words. Not once had he failed Chirutt before. But now it was impossible to win.

"Keep searching," Chirutt said. His voice gasped to be heard, gasped against the weight of the tree that pinned him down. "There is still faith in you. I feel it. Keep searching and you will find it again."

Baz shook his head. "It's too late."

"No." Chirutt's words had the force of conviction behind them. "It is never too late."

He seemed to fall asleep then, a faded prayer on his lips and a last nod to Baz.

The tears fell, one after another. Baz couldn't stop them. He knelt on the cold, damp ground and promised his friend that he would not stop searching for the bit of faith still somewhere inside him. He didn't think it was there. But Chirutt had always been able to see farther than he.

He rose up and carried Melshi away from there. Chirutt had wanted him to live and so Baz would see to it.

After all, was it not his job to do the things for Chirutt that Chirutt could not do for himself?


	17. A TRIO OF TRAGEDIES

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: *sniffles* We're coming down to the end, you guys, and it's SO SAD. But I'm determined to see this through, just like Jyn/Jeanne and Cassian/Casián. I'm hoping to have the entire fic wrapped up by the end of January 2019 and then I think I'm going to revise it and post it on Wattpad. We'll see. I hope everyone had a great Christmas and will have a happy New Year!**

Behind the steel door that separated them from Kay, Casián heard shots.

He punched the radio receiver's button. "Kay?"

"All clear." Kay's voice was nonchalant, but his breaths came quick and hard. "Now, Stardust should be in the files you're searching right now. Keep go-"

This time, the sputter of gunfire could be heard through the door _and_ the radio receiver.

"Find it quickly!" Kay hissed. "I'm running out."

"I'll come back."

"No! You and Jeanne have to get out of here. If you're trapped, then those plans never make it out and the world's done for."

Casián looked around him. There were the endless file cabinets. The one elevator that held too much danger up top. And the second elevator on the far end of the room.

"I've got it," Jeanne said, her voice calm.

"Okay, okay…" He stood for a moment, weighing their options.

There was only one, really.

"Kay, which floor is the commander's office on?"

There was a breathless silence in which he feared that Kay was unable to answer, but then Kay's voice crackled in his hand. "Second floor. When you go out the elevator, take the hall to your right and the commandant's office is the door at the very end."

"All right."

Casián nodded at Jeanne. It was time to go.

/

Too many blasted Jerries in here.

Two more appeared in the doorway to the control room. Kay raised the stolen side-arm, but he had a feeling it was useless now.

 _Blam_. One down.

 _Click._

 _Click._

 _Click._

Nothing. Out of ammunition. And he'd always been so careful about ammo consumption…

But when you have three or five Jerries breathing down your neck, you can't think about that. And he'd never expected to make it out of here. Only the plans. Hopefully Casián and maybe even Jeanne. She was stubborn, but he half liked her.

The Jerries approached.

 _Blam_.

The shot only scraped his head. The next shot to his chest was cleaner. Lethal.

Kay fell to the floor, the walkie still clutched in his hand.

He fought to get the last words out before the tearing pain in his chest consumed him.

"Get…get out…"

Only then did his grip on the walkie relax. Breath exhaled.

His last thought was of her.

The woman he'd left behind in Skaref. The woman he would have died for. But she'd died first.

Now it was his turn.

/

He would have liked to curl up and howl like a hurt dog.

Kay was gone.

But his friend had bought them time, maybe even enough to get out of here and send the file to headquarters. So he ran, Jeanne sprinting beside him toward the second elevator. They just needed to reach it before the first elevator opened. Or before some fool cut the power.

If his eyes burned as he ran, it was the wind created by their movement.

If his throat ached, it was from the exertion of running.

If his heart was heavy…

He had no excuse for that.

/

It wasn't good. Not good at all, Bode thought as he watched the small bits of chaos he could see through cracks in the truck's canvas.

There were more ground troops now, weeding out the resistors. They seemed to be everywhere. If he was found in this truck - only a matter of time, really - he might get by with his uniform and the fact that he'd been one of them, but the others would be captured and killed.

"Listen," he said. "You have to go out. They've sent in more troops. You're the only reinforcements that your friends have right now."

"What about you?" one of the men asked. There was still an etching of suspicion on his face.

"I'll stay here and help Casián and Jeanne if they call in."

The man stared at Bode for a long time before he turned to the others. "Let's go."

Bode checked outside before giving the 'all clear'. There was nobody among the stacked crates 0r in the patches of trees and shrubs a little farther on.

"Go, go, go," he whispered. They slipped out of the truck and toward the fighting, single file.

Bode scanned the surrounding area as they left.

Still nothing. Good. That was good.

/

Private Schmidt, seventeen years old, was a deserter. In his first battle, too.

He was hidden behind a tree, regretting his life choices, when the truck in front of him - one he'd thought deserted - came to life. French Resistance workers poured out of the back, directed by-

He squinted, not believing it.

But they were being helped by a German pilot.

 _A traitor._

He didn't stop to think that, by deserting, he himself was a traitor. All he knew was that the battle couldn't last much longer and when it ended, he still had a chance of coming out on top. Nobody knew he'd deserted, probably, and if he came back with reports of bravery, they'd welcome him.

He'd dropped his rifle a long way back, but he still had his grenades.

He pulled one out and armed it.

The grenade flew through the air toward the truck. For a moment, he thought it wouldn't go in. But it did.

/

Bode saw the grenade as it landed in the truck.

Then it exploded.

/

Baz looked up. He couldn't be sure what had happened, but the mushrooming fire ball was coming from the direction of the truck. The one Bode had stolen. A ball of sadness wedged in his chest, though he wasn't sure why. He'd never liked Bode. Too nervous and quiet - neither qualities were ones that inspired confidence in a defector.

But at least Bode had proved himself.

Had _he_?

He'd been walking toward the tanks, but he didn't know where they were anymore.

The thin forest concealed him for now, but soon he would have to go out and hunt for the tanks among the raging battle. And he would not last long there. But he jogged through the woods, toward the clearing and toward the truck.

There were Germans hiding in the woods but his machine gun took care of them.

He could see the truck now. Or what was left of it.

A burning husk. Fire spat and crackled at him.

And behind him, the raspy scrape of an armed German grenade. He should know. He'd used enough of them.

It bounced on the ground beside him. He whirled in that split second, locking eyes with a young German soldier.

He almost killed the boy in the split second before the grenade went off, but something held him back.

Chirutt.

And he died smiling because Chirutt would have been proud of the choice he'd made.

He had not shot. And so perhaps it would be all right.


	18. THE END OF ALL THINGS

Casián slammed his fist into the elevator's 'down' button. They couldn't afford to get into it. There was too much chance of them getting trapped in there, of the Germans recalling the machine and killing them when the doors opened.

"We need to climb," he said to Jeanne.

She nodded, her face set.

She tucked the file inside her jacket and snapped the buttons of it shut. "I'm ready."

Casián nodded. He pulled out his gun and fired at the doors. Once, twice. There wasn't much ammo left; he needed to conserve it. But the two bullets left enough of a gap that he was able to pry open the doors. It wasn't hard, not with him and Jeanne throwing their weight against it. Elevator doors were designed to open.

He stared up into the inky blackness above - and below.

The elevator had gone down even deeper into the facility. Probably to a bunker designed for the men who worked here.

"You go first."

 _Crack._

The Germans had slammed open the door to the records room.

"Go, go!" he whispered and Jeanne swung herself inside the elevator shaft. He could only hope she had grabbed the ridged walls instead of falling.

Germans swooped around the file cabinets, drawing closer and closer.

"There!" a German major shouted. "Get him!"

Casián shot at the major. The bullets didn't hit him. His hand shook.

 _Click. Click. Click._

No bullets.

The first one caught him in the thigh. He staggered backwards. Into the elevator shaft.

His hands reached for the belts that helped the elevator on its way.

And found only empty air.

/

 _Casián!_

Jeanne watched in horror as he reached for the wall - and fell.

But she didn't say anything, didn't shout or scream. They couldn't know she was here. She had to get out, had to get Stardust to the main office and fax it to headquarters. How she would do that without anyone covering her back…well, she'd worry about it when she actually got there.

If she did.

The thought of Casián burned in her mind and shortened her breath.

She couldn't stop moving.

It was so hard, though. Thinking about his body lying crumpled and-

No. She couldn't think about it.

She gulped down a steadying breath and reached for the next handhold in the wall. She had to go mainly by touch. There was hardly any light and it made her nervous. One misstep and she'd be just like-

Her fingers brushed, then gripped another ridge in the wall.

Hurry, hurry before they sent the elevator rushing toward her.

The next doorway she saw would lead onto the main level. How she would get it open without a gun was a problem, but there had to be some way to do it. If she gave up now Casián's sacrifice would be meaningless. So would Father's and Mother's. And Kay's.

She had to have gone far enough up to reach the door.

Her legs and arms trembled under the strain. How much longer would she have to climb?

She paused for a moment to catch her breath and felt the folder under her shirt. It was a reassuring presence. As long as she was able to move forward, the Allies had a chance. She wasn't exactly sure when the cause, the Allied cause had become her own but it was too late to wonder over it. It simply _was_.

Had to keep going.

Was-was she hallucinating? Or was that truly a sliver of light coming from the wall in front of her?

The door.

It had to be.

Jeanne brushed the hair away from her face and edged her way along the perimeter of the shaft until she reached the doorway. The light brushed her face, made her squint. Cool air came from the crack. It was definitely where she needed to go.

Now how to get it open?

A whirring sound made her start.

Beside her, the rubbery belts began to move. It was slow at first, but that wouldn't last long. The elevator rocketed toward her even now.

Her breath quickened, pulsing in her chest.

She had to get out now. Right now.

Her fingers made it between the crack in the door and then she pulled with all the strength her tired muscles could muster. It had to be enough. The machinery picked up speed and the door wasn't open yet.

A half-sob caught in her throat.

The door had to open. It had to. Things couldn't end like this.

She couldn't yell, to gather her strength, but she gritted her teeth.

Whirring mechanisms nipped at her feet.

"Ahhhhh!" It was loud enough now that she could scream.

With a final wrench, the doors opened and she tumbled out onto the slick marble floor.

"Hey! What's this?"

It was two soldiers, staring down at her. They must have been waiting for the elevator.

Before they could react any further, Jeanne leaped to her feet and rammed one of them into the other. It was easy after that to take one of the guns. She hesitated only in her mind as she shot them both.

The shots would lead others to this location, but she couldn't hesitate.

She clutched the gun and ran down the hall.

Where was the main office? It would have a name plate on it, wouldn't it? Major something or other. She didn't dare open the different doors she ran past but the fact that most of them had name plates on the front was a good sign.

There! She skidded to a stop.

 _Major Orson Kraemer._

She took a deep breath, prayed the major wasn't inside, and opened the door.

The office was a mess. Broken glass lay sprinkled over the floor and there were definite smears of blood. Jeanne crunched over the glass. Her boots were tough. They could take it. She'd never seen a fax machine before but she knew the basics, thanks to Kay.

It sat on a small desk apart from the main desk in the room.

She walked over to the machine and laid a hand on the desk. Her hand trembled but she gulped down the events of the last few minutes and tried to focus.

She yanked the file out of her shirt. It was a bit damp in places from sweat but the papers inside were safe.

This would take forever.

There were three pages filled with detailed schematics in writing and two with different blueprints.

Better start with the first one.

She slid it into the machine and pressed what she hoped were the appropriate buttons. There was a sickening moment when her mind went blank, when she couldn't remember where to send the papers so that they'd arrive at headquarters. But her fingers entered the information almost through muscle memory.

 _Hurry, hurry,_ she silently urged the paper. She was too exposed here, even with the soldier's gun. And who knew how much ammo it had left.

First page done.

Four more to go.

Jeanne had just set the second one in place when a scuffling sound made her whirl around.

The major.

The face that had haunted a thousand nightmares and fueled a thousand revenge-filled plans.

"Guards!" the major bawled, his eyes fixed on Jeanne's face.

She held her breath.

But no guards came.

Good job, Bode and Baz and Chirutt. Good job, rebels. They'd destroyed the major's forces.

"Who _are_ you?" the major spat, taking a step closer. He hardly seemed to notice the gun she had pointing at him. It looked as though he'd been shot. Casián?

"I'm Jeanne Erso."

He stared. A frown crossed his face.

"You are supposed to be dead."

The machine beeped. Ready for another page. She felt behind her to switch out the papers, always keeping her eyes and her weapon trained on the major. "Well, here I am. You killed my mother and my father but you couldn't kill me." She raised her chin. "I'm still here. And you've just lost."

He spat out a laugh. "Oh, have I?"

"My father, your friend, Galen Erso…he built a flaw into your precious Death Bringer. It's over."

Kraemer's eyes narrowed. "Ah, so that's what you're doing with my fax machine."

She didn't say anything. Let him think what he wanted.

She'd just as soon kill him but, as much as she hated to think it, he could be a good bargaining chip if she happened to make it out alive. And he wasn't so much her property anymore. He was the property of the Allies, of every man, woman, and child who was threatened by his weapon.

"You really think you'll get away with this," Kraemer mused.

A rumbling caught in her ears just as the machine beeped again.

Kraemer glanced out the window. "They're leaving," he said and took a step closer.

His attention was on the window and Jeanne's was on getting another page into the machine.

He lunged at her, slapped her to the ground. And her gun was suddenly in his hands.

"See?" he said, grinning over her. "I still win."

He ripped the paper from the machine.

A gunshot rang out.

Jeanne flinched.

Kraemer's eyes went wide and blank and then he collapsed to the floor, almost on top of her.

She shoved his body aside and scrambled to her feet.

And looked up to see…Casián.

"Casián!" she exclaimed. "How-?"

"There is no time." He bent down and took the paper from Kraemer's hand. Casián's right thigh was dark and wet with blood. "Send it through. Hurry. Someone called off the guards and they are running away."

She slid the paper back into the fax machine. "Running from what?"

He raised his shoulder in a one-sided shrug. "I have an idea, but it is not good."

She turned back. She had the same idea.

Kraemer lay on the ground, his head twisted to one side. He looked so peaceful in death, so smug.

Sudden tears, sudden rage caught in her throat. She lunged at the body, to crush his head under her foot and take away that look. But Casián caught at her waist. He winced. "Hey," he said, his voice a feather soft whisper. "It's okay. Leave him. It's okay."

She swallowed.

The fax machine beeped. They still had work to do.

/

When the pages were faxed through, all of them, she helped him walk down the hall.

It was a long walk. He could barely move now. How had he managed to climb up the elevator?

She wondered, but there were some questions that weren't important anymore.

They walked down the hall in silence. The door seemed so far away and the sun was setting. It turned all the windows to an orange-gold that she would have been content to watch for forever. But Casián was losing blood so quickly. She needed to get him to safety.

Jeanne turned the door handle and pushed it open.

Then they were outside in the cool, fresh twilight air. It was colder than when they'd arrived.

Far off in the distance, a green light shone for just a moment.

Then she could hear the whistling sound that had been in Jeddah as well. Inbound missile.

The Death Bringer.

Casián had to have heard it because even though there were a few vehicles still in the courtyard, he pulled her toward a bench in the sculptured garden that had somehow escaped the worst of the battle. It was beautiful, peaceful.

Somewhere, somewhere a little farther off, the missile hit. The ground shuddered.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"Your father would be proud of you," he said. There was sadness in his eyes, but mostly pride.

Jeanne swallowed hard.

Her father…and Baz and Chirutt, Bode and Kay. Would they be proud?

She thought so.

She reached up and caught his hand in her own.

The ground shook harder. And over the lawn came a greenish gas, thick and choking.

The last thing either of them saw was the crimson sunset turning black.

 **A/N: Waaaaah! I have such a love/hate relationship with the ending of Rogue One, but I didn't think it was right to change it just to give Jeanne/Jyn and Casián/Cassian a happy ending. There WILL be an epilogue, hopefully in the next couple of days. Thanks for sticking with me and this story through the whole thing. It's been quite a ride.**


	19. EPILOGUE

Melshi winced.

It was dark inside the bunker where one of the rebels had dragged him. Dark and cold. He'd been unconscious for some time - he didn't know how long - but hunger and thirst and a pounding headache drove him awake.

When he touched the floor of the bunker, his fingers touched wetness. The whole place smelled of blood and then he remembered. The explosion. His shattered leg.

He was leaning against the door when he woke up so it didn't take much effort to find a place to grip the fame so he could pull the thing open.

Outside, there was more darkness.

Night.

But a full moon shone down and made his path clearer.

He crawled out of the bunker. His leg burned like a hundred fires but staying in an enemy bunker was suicide. It was a wonder no one had found him.

As he made his way toward the facility, a faint smell worked up his nose and settled in the back of his head. He almost vomited when he realized it was some kind of gas.

He'd be dead in a moment.

Wouldn't he?

But aside from making his headache worse - much worse - he was still upright. Still moving.

The facility stood in the moonlight, silent and ghostly. There were no guards like there had been when they'd first arrived. Nothing.

His foot tripped over something and he fell forward.

When he scrambled up, trying not to put weight on his injured leg, he saw what he'd tripped over.

A body.

One of the rebels, though he didn't recognize the man.

Now that he looked up, looked ahead, he could see so many more bodies littering the ground, lying where they'd fallen. There were at least two dozen that he could see and as he clenched his jaw and went forward, there were more.

He found the exploded husk of a truck. Their truck. There were no recognizable bodies inside.

He passed the facility, went through the gardens ringing the building.

Another body - two bodies. He recognized them this time. His captain, his leader. Casián. And the girl who'd brought them all here. Jean or Jeanne Erso or something like that. He paused for a moment and rested his hand on Casián's chest, head bowed. He crossed himself, a moment of silence for his leader.

Casián had broken him out of a German prison. He'd followed the man ever since. And now Casián was dead.

Of course Casián had known the dangers.

But that thought did nothing to lessen the ache in Melshi's chest.

He turned around. There had been one or two vehicles in the motor pool that looked intact. He couldn't take them very far since he obviously wasn't a German soldier, but they would get him away from this place.

He needed to escape. The allies needed to know what had happened here.

They needed to know the heroism of Casián and the others.

/

Leah Morgan, secretary to Colonel Benjamin Kentworthy, stood outside her commander's office, the latest intelligence in her trembling hands. This-this was bigger than anything she'd had the privilege of delivering to the colonel before. This could change the course of the war.

She knocked on the door again.

These days the colonel was so busy with telephone calls from different intelligence branches that he sometimes didn't hear her knock until the third or fourth time. He was, after all, the nerve center of the resistance efforts in both France and Germany.

And she knew better than going in unannounced. She might be secretary to one of the highest-ranked intelligence officers, but there were still things not meant for her eyes.

"Come in," came a voice from the other side.

Leah turned the doorknob and entered, the papers shaking in her hands.

"Sir, the report from the facility on Skaref has come in."

His eyebrows rose. "Oh? And what have they sent us?"

She couldn't control the smile that rose from her heart. "Hope."

A hope she had utter faith in.

 **A/N: It's been a journey! At times I wasn't sure I'd finish this story...but I was determined to. I realize that I had Melshi's leg being blown off in an earlier chapter but it didn't work for the ending I have in mind. If I ever clean up all the continuity errors, I'll be sure to rectify that. :)**


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